


The (he)art thief

by Akemichan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Thief!Keith, cop!shiro, small sex scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 38,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24714205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akemichan/pseuds/Akemichan
Summary: Red is an infamous art thief and after spreading panic in many cities with his heist, he's now in Venice, ready to steal as many paintings as he can.Inspector Shirogane has every intention to stop him.Little does he knows, about Red's true intention, and about what he's going to steal in the end.Written for the Black Paladin Big Bang!
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45
Collections: Black Paladins Bang 2020





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> And finally, it's here, my story for the Big Bang!  
> Being a big fan of stories like "White Collar", "Cat's eyes" and "Sait Tail", I just had to write a Sheith AU about this kind of plot.
> 
> Huuuge thanks to my beta [Genesister](https://twitter.com/Genesister2) that help me a lot into making this story more realistic and also putting as much art reference as we can! She also went so far and drew a sketch of Keith with the Red dress, you'll find it in the story.
> 
> And then, I was soooo incredibly lucky to have [yawarakaiarts](https://twitter.com/yawarakaiarts) as a partner and they drew a couple of incredible piece of art. I've put them in the story, but also check it out their twitter for more arts!!  
> Thank you so much for being my partner for this!  
> The title was their idea, by the way!
> 
> We were so eager to show this to you all, so I hope you enjoy it! Have fun!

He’s running.

The hallway of the museum is dark, and empty, and Shiro’s running alone. He’s following someone, but in the dark he can’t see much. The walls of the museum are full of paintings, and they come to life; monsters and humans alike emerge from their frames, their arms and hands seeming to stretch out to catch Shiro’s ankles.

In the far corner, a dim light appears. It’s a glass door window, that reflects the moonlight from outside. With a relieved smile, Shiro runs faster, and just a second before the monsters can take him, he opens the windows.

He doesn’t count on there being a tiny, unstable balcony lacking even a basic railing to protect him as he finds himself teetering forward in surprise. With a hand on the wall, Shiro forces his body to pull back, avoiding falling in the dark canal below him at the last minute.

“Careful, Inspector.”

An amused voice comes from above him, and just like that, Red the thief is there. There is no mistaking his tight black suit and his red mantle and his mask that covers the entire upper part of his face, or his red top hat. He floats above the canal, in front of Shiro, hung to a group of multicolor balloons, a smirk on his face.

The wall Shiro is grasping onto crumbles to pieces, and he starts to fall down fast towards the canal, as the thief’s low laugh resounds in his ears. He stretches the arm upwards to try and catch him…

And then he wakes up. He finds himself in his bed, sweat sticking his hair to the face, painting hard.

This is getting ridiculous.

Now the investigation regarding the high profile heists of the notorious thief Red is disturbing his sleep; as much as Shiro loves his job, he knows it’s time to put an end on this. For the sake of normalcy during the day, and for a return tomore restful nights, where he doesn’t dream about museums, paintings, or failing in the canals.

The cellphone on the bedside table lights up and rings, communicating a new message. With a grunt, Shiro leans over and takes the phone.

James has sent him a brief communication: _Iverson wants to see you, and Sanda is here too_

There is no doubt in Shiro’s mind about the tone and the argument of his future conversation with Ellen Sanda and Superior Commissioner Mitch Iverson. He knows Iverson has plenty of faith in him, but Sanda, as the leading public prosecutor of Venice, has the public breathing down her back. She believes that her personal popularity-and possible future run for mayor-might plummet if Red’s rampage is not stopped soon.

With a sigh, Shiro takes a brief shower, dresses himself and leaves his apartment. He’s lucky to have found it in the center of Venice, on the upper floor of a building. It’s small and humid, but it’s his, and it allows him to reach the police station by foot, using the small [calle](https://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calle) the tourists don’t bother with.

Once he enters the police station, James and Ryan stand up from their respective desks, and look at him worriedly.

“Where are they?” Shiro asks, with a small nod as a greeting.

“Iverson’s office.”

Shiro nods; he passes them both and knocks on the door of his superior’s office. A second later comes a gruff response.

“Come in.” Iverson is at his desk, Sanda sitting down in front of him. On the desk are a pile of the day’s newspapers, all of them discussing the municipal forces’ efforts against Red.

As usual, journalists aren’t kind to them.

“Do you want to see me, Sir?” Shiro politely asks.

“Sit down, Shirogane. We have to talk.”

And with that, Shiro knows Iverson means that Sanda has something to say and that they both aren’t going to like it. Still, Shiro obediently sits down in the chair next to Sanda.

“Our prosecutor,” Iverson begins, “isn’t happy about the progress of our investigation. I tried to explain to her the difficulty of our work, but she isn’t satisfied.”

“It’s not just me, Mitch,” Sanda points out. “I received multiple calls from the mayor, the president, and the Interior secretary. Like all of us, they’re worried about the threat Red poses to not only Italy’s cultural legacy, but tourism-people don’t visit when the things they want to see are stolen! And, until now, this force hasn’t been able to stop him.”

“So what do you suggest?” Iverson asks.

“I’m suggesting that we should leave the investigation at someone with expertise about this kind of criminal activity.”

“I’m sorry, are you insinuating am I not competent enough to capture our suspect?” Shiro asks as he feels his blood pressure spikes at the prosecutor’s unspoken implication.

“I am saying that you must admit that, ah, certain aspects of these crimes are beyond the capability of your team to solve,” Sanda says.

“Maybe so, in your opinion. But I don’t believe there is anyone else more capable to arrest Red than I.”

“Listen, Inspector Shirogane-” Sanda begins, but Shiro doesn’t leave her the time, despite Iverson’s gesture to stop.

“No, you listen to me! Naples. Rome. Florence. Milan. Venice is the fifth city Red’s targeted. Did someone else stop him? No! Not even the [T.P.C.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carabinieri_Art_Squad) has been able to trace him! That’s the reason he’s here now. Because no one has been able to catch him. Am I wrong?”

“…You’re not,” Sanda finally concedes.

“You and everyone else called yesterday night’s stakeout a failure, but it was not. I was closer to arresting Red than anyone else was-mere seconds away, even! Do you know what the flaw with our plan was? Too many people were involved, and Red took advantage of that, which is exactly what I predicted would happen. So from now on, I don’t want anyone to interfere with me or my case.”

“You realize this case is bigger than all of us, right?”

“I know, and I don’t care,” Shiro replies. “My case history should speak for itself by now. I have successfully closed nearly every single that has crossed my desk, and nearly every suspect I’ve pursued is still in jail. This time will be no different, as long as this is my case, my job is to catch Red. Your job is to make everyone else understand this and keep everyone else far away until I’m done.”

Sanda’s hands clench into fists, and she trembles slightly. She’s the prosecutor, the one in charge of this case by law and thus, she’s the one that should be giving orders. Yet, at the same time, she finds her hands tied as well. Shiro is a very popular public and since he was promoted Venice’s overall crime rate has plummeted. If she took him off the case-or fired him-her own popularity would suffer.

“Fine, do what you will,” she manages to grind out. “But take care, you’re walking on thin ice.”

“Like usual.” Shiro turns his head towards Iverson, who makes a gesture to dismiss him, something Shiro does with his head held high.

When he returns to the main room, James and Ryan pretend to be at work.

“The case is still ours,” Shiro announces, and they both breathe a deep sigh of relief. “But I don’t know for how much longer. We need to catch Red before they change their mind. Ryan, I want all the information you manage to find about Red’s previous heists. No matter how small the clue is, I want everything that happened to them. James, I want information about every work of art Red has stolen. Artists, mediums, subject matter, all known previous owners, everything-if there’s a pattern to his crimes, it will help us determine where he might strike next.”

“Yessir,” they answer. Then, James adds, looking as Shiro moving towards the exit, “what about you?”

He doesn’t turn around in answering, “I need a coffee.”

In a small [campo](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Campo_\(Venice\)) just behind the police station is Shiro’s favorite eatery. It’s not attended by many policemen because the owner isn’t as kind as the one that runs the place just in front of the station; the prices are also a little bit higher, due to its historical registry status.

Shiro enjoys it because it’s quiet.

His usual table has just been used, and a waiter with long dark hair is cleaning it. He is clearly new, because Shiro doesn’t remember him. He waits until the waiter finishes his job, then takes a step forwards, just as the waiter turns his head at him.

And woah, he’s the most beautiful man Shiro has ever seen. He drowns in those big blue eyes, before the waiter, with a lost expression, runs back behind the counter. Wondering why he seemed so intimidated, Shiro takes his seat. A couple of minutes later, Sal appears with Shiro’s usual order, a large espresso and a chocolate muffin.

“Rough day, am I right?” Sal comments.

“You have no idea,” Shiro replies, with a smile. “But I’m feeling already better now, thank you.”

He throws a look inside the shop: the waiter is at the counter, letting a client paying and at the same time taking another order from a fat lady.

“New guy?” he asks, hoping to have used enough nonchalantly to hide his obvious interest.

“Uh?” Sal follows Shiro’s gaze. “Ah, Keith Koh. Yes. Last week, old Jack found another job and left me in the middle of his shift. Keith is in college and needed pocket money, so… we kinda helped each other. He’s been a good worker.”

Shiro wants to ask more, but he doesn’t want to seem creepy, so he just nods. He eats his muffin and drinks his coffee, wondering if it would be inappropriate to ask for the new waiter to come to chat with him. He waits twenty minutes, but it’s Sal who cleans his table and Keith remains in the back, preparing coffee.

The pause is over. Now it’s time to return to work, and to think about how to stop Red. Back in the station, Ryan and James are already working on their own assignments, so Shiro decides to look back on the two capers Red has already gotten away with in Venice.

Instead, he finds a young man sitting down in front of his desk.

He recognizes him immediately.

“What are you doing here?” he demands.

“Oh, hey.” The young man stands up. “Lance Serrano, nice to meet you. I hope there are no hard feelings about what happened yesterday evening?”

Shiro refuses to shake his hand and sits down. “Do you mean the moment I was about to grab Red’s arm and you fell right into me out of nowhere, allowing our suspect the time to evade us?”

Lance rubs his head, embarrassed. “Yeah… that.”

“Do you realize that I can you for interfering with an official police investigation? Or as an accessory after the fact?” Shiro’s eyes narrowed. “For all we know, you’re working with Red.”

“Hey, hey, do not joke about that! I’m not that thief’s accomplice. I’ve actually been trying to catch that jerk since his first appearance in Naples.” He rummages in his pocket and extracts a visitor card, that passes to Shiro.

“You’re a private detective?”

“The one and only.” Lance paused. “Well, to be honest, Red’s case is my first big one, before him I was like everyone else, following wives and husbands around. But then Red stole something from my family’s house, and I’m looking for him ever since.”

“You’ve been following him around this whole time?” Shiro inquiries, suddenly interested.

Lance doesn’t seem the brightest at first glance, but if he has been on the tail of Red for so long, he may have some information for Shiro. He might even possess evidence that had been overlooked by previous investigators.

“Yep! Not to be extra, but I’m the foremost expert on Red’s targets!” He takes off a folder. “And, as a peace offering, I brought you all my case notes.”

Shiro takes the folder and opens it; everything is arranged in order of date and separated by colored tabs. There are photos and diagrams and paper files on every work of art, along with schematics of every building hit by Red. A job well done, and Shiro didn’t expect it to be so detailed.

“We’re on the same side here,” Lance continues. “I really want that thief behind bars. So let’s help one another. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”

“Can I keep this?” Shiro asks.

“Of course, it’s for you. And,” Lance grabs a pen and scribbles a number on the corner of the folder, “this is my cell phone number. Feel free to contact me as you like.”

***

The shift ends at four o’clock. Keith cleans up the last tables, waves goodbye to Sal, and then rushes to the nearest stop for the inter-island ferry. He takes it to reach Torcello. It’s quieter than Venice, with far lesstraffic, which means fewer people sneaking around. The small villa Pidge rents is at the far corner of the island, surrounded by high hedges to obscure the property within.

Most of the villa is unused. Pidge has made her personal office, with computers and everything, out of the big ballroom. And there she is, in front of one of his camera feeds. From the rumbling Keith can hear, Hunk is probably nearby, creating some new inventions.

“Welcome back,” she greets him. “How was your first day of work?”

“Did you know?”

“I know a lot of things. Be more specific.”

“Did you know,” Keith murmurs slowly, anger under control, “that the café you made me work at is the inspector’s favorite?”

“Yes.”

“Why the hell did you do something like this,” he complains as he takes out his sketchbook; his most recent unfinished piece is a perfect copy of [Ratto di Europa](https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Domenico_antonio_vaccaro_\(attr.\),_ratto_di_europa.jpg), albeit it is still in the form of an uncolored sketch. It is a way to keep his less-than-savory art skills fresh. “If he finds out…”

“I doubt he will make a connection between the nice waiter at Sal’s and Red the Thief,” Pidge interrupts him, “not unless you say something compromising.”

“I won’t. Still, I don’t see why I should be taking such a risk. Isn’t Lance already trying to distract him?”

“Yes. But apparently Inspector Shirogane is gay and single.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “So what? Do you want me to seduce him on top of what I do for this outfit?”

“That would be a great idea,” Lance’s voice echoes in the ballroom, “because God knows how much you need to get laid. And the Inspector is just your type, tall and buff. But unfortunately, you’re the worst when it comes to the art of seduction.”

“I’m gonna quit tomorrow,” Keith states, as he slips away from Lance’s hug.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Pidge admonishes him. “That would look suspect for sure. You will go to work, chat with the Inspector to see what he knows, and we’ll do the rest.” Then her attention moves to Lance, “how about you? What do you think about our newest adversary?”

“He’s a tough cookie,” Lance comments, taking a seat on the armchair in front of him. “I left my usual folder of Totally Accurate Information with him, and he seemed interested enough, but I wouldn’t count on him believing everything inside it.”

Pidge nods. “I feared that might happen. We don’t have much choice but to be extra careful next time. I can get a little red herring ready-a new card that you can conveniently leave behind for the cops. Whatever we put in will have to be vague, but it should throw Mr. Tall and Buff off your trail before our next objective.”

“Speaking of, do you have our next objective?” Keith asks, now interested.

“I have. Be prepared.”

***

The next days are spent reading all the documents Shiro collected. His desk is now completely covered with piles of papers scattered about; he also used a blackboard when he ran out of space on the desk.

Lance’s folder showed promise, to Shiro’s surprise. There is some incorrect information about Red’s methodology, but it could be because Lance isn’t a policeman and thus lacked full access to every investigation. Most of his theories seemed straight out of Lance’s own imagination, and some were so ridiculous they wouldn’t have been out of place in a Hollywood movie.

Still, he made some interesting deductions about Red’s preferred painted prey for purloining. In every city Red visited, he always stole ten paintings, all from the same set of ten artists. He might change the order of what he stole and when, but the number of works and the artists whose works he took didn’t. And as he compares the two thefts Red had already made in Venice along with his own printouts from the Leonardo database, Shiro recognizes the same characteristics Lance noted. Despite the difference in subject matter or painting medium, there are some connecting characteristics between the two works and those taken from previous collections. ~~~~

It was an interesting avenue to pursue, because it means they can try to find what Red’s next objective could be, without waiting for his warning card.

Shiro takes the phone. “Hey, Ina,” he greets their analyst. “If I send you a list of artists and one characteristic their paintings should have, can you find a list of paintings in Venice that correspond to that?”

“Yes,” she answers simply. “If the paintings are recorded in the MUVEdatabase, of course.” ~~~~

“I’ll send you the list by e-mail right away.”

“Thank you.”

Shiro knows that there is the possibility that there might be an unregistered, unknown work of art, one secreted away in a private collection, that Red could set his eyes on. On the other hand, the thief had always taken items that were in public archives, and the works were always of some renown to the wider world.

In less than half an hour, Ina sends Shiro a list of paintings that correspond to the characteristics Shiro wrote down. In total, there are twenty paintings by eight different artists. Soon enough, Shiro has reduced that list to two.

Eventually, he finds himself back at his local haunt, mulling over owner information on those two final art pieces. He will need to contact both owners immediately, map the galleries out, and set up extra surveillance on the artworks. There is no doubt in his mind that Red scopes his marks just as fully before each job, so Shiro is going to do likewise. With luck, he might even catch the thief before anything else is taken. 

“Crime never rests, huh?” a low voice says behind him, and Shiro turns to find Keith, the waiter, coming in front of him with a tray of what it looks like his lunch. He hasn’t ordered it yet. He that is enough justification for his surprised, wide-mouthed expression.

“Sal is running an errand, but he was worried about you,” Keith murmurs, as he placed down the tray: the prosciutto and cheese _piadina_ and the orange juice he always ordered, at least when he remembered to. “He said you stop eating when you’re preoccupied with your current case. So he ordered me to take care of it.”

“He knows me too well,” Shiro admits. “Thank you. Oh, uhm…”

“It’s Keith,” the other smiles. Shiro shakes his hand and notices Keith doesn’t move to leave.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Oh, no, Sal said you can pay him later.” Keith waves his hand. “It’s just… if I leave now, I’d have to return later to take back the tray. Or… I can just wait here until you’re done, since there are no clients now.” He looks embarrassed. “If you don’t mind the company.”

Shiro might have been a little too fast in pointing out the chair, but Keith doesn’t seem to mind too much, as he sits down.

“If you don’t mind looking at me while I’m eating,” Shiro says.

“It can’t be so bad,” Keith laughs.

“Watch and judge.” And Shiro takes a very big bite of the _piadina_. Keith does seem a little impressed by it.

“So, Sal told me you’re here for a Master’s degree?” Shiro asks.

“Oh, yes. Uh, it’s for Art History.”

“Oh, nice. Someone like you could help me catch the thief, then, huh?” Shiro jokes.

Keith coughs a little. Then, he throws a look at the blackboard. “So Red the Thief, huh?”

“Yep. Have you heard about him?”

“Who hasn’t? The media talks about it every day. They say he always sends the police riddles just before he commits a crime, like an old-fashioned gentleman thief.”

“Yes, that’s true that the papers say that.”

“Why do you think he does that?”

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss something like that. Classified information.”

Shiro’s opinion on the matter is clear, though: Red does that to throw the police into chaos and overdrive, before taking advantage of the fallout of their failure to stop him.

“Oh, right, sorry.” Keith’s eyes wander around. “I mean, it’s bad to steal something so culturally important. Still, there’s something quaint, even charming about that kind of criminal. You know, like Arsène Lupin. Or maybe his grandson, Lupin III.”

Shiro snorts.

“I guess you’re not a fan?” Keith smiles.

“Not really. To be honest my favorite character has always been Inspector Zenigata.” Keith looks at him intently. “I mean, he’s constantly painted as a bumbling oaf, but if that was all he was, why would Interpol bother to keep him? Besides, think about the times that he and Lupin teamed up to arrest other, more dangerous criminals; Zenigata always performed his job competently and it’s clear his respect for the rule of law is second to none. I think that Zenigata is actually the best agent Interpol has, and is an honorable and just man who works hard to do the right thing, and that’s why he was chosen to catch Lupin.”

He stops, noticing Keith is looking at him with wide eyes. “Sorry, I’m a nerd. I used to get teased for liking anime when I was growing up.”

Keith laughs. “No, you’re cute. I mean,” he blushes, “it’s nice to see someone else who likes that show.”

Okay, so Keith doesn’t find him weird. Good.

“Well, now that you know I’m a nerd,” Shiro says. “Let’s talk about you. You’re in college, right? How are the classes?”

“Ugh. Next question?”

“Where do you come from? How old are you-” Then, he sighs. “Sorry. I sound like I’m interrogating you, don’t I?”

“A little.” Keith laughs again. “I’m from just outside Rome,” he always then. “It’s a little bit different here. Have you lived here your whole life?”

“No, I’m originally from Milan. My mother met my father there-he was a Japanese émigré. After I finished school, I came to Veneto for basic training at the regional academy, I and after I graduated I landed my job here in [_La Serenissima_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Republic_of_Venice). It’s got a charm to it, at least when you’re not where the tourists are. As long as you avoid the hotspots, there are lots of places to hang out and soak in the real Venice.”

“Really? I’d like to see them.”

“Well, I could-”

Suddenly Ryan appears at the entrance of the café. “Boss, Iverson wishes to see us.”

“Coming!” Shiro looks at Keith with an apologizing smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I have to go back to work too.” Keith stands up. Shiro rushes to give back the tray, and only then he notices a small drawing, depicting Shiro’s bust in a very anime way.

“You made this?” he asks Keith.

He blushes. “Yeah…”

“It’s so cute. Can I keep it?”

“Sure, if you like…”

Shiro strips the piece of paper out and puts it in his pocket. “If you’d like… we can have a coffee sometime ~~s~~. Not at Sal’s, of course,” he adds, with a small laugh. “I can show you some of my favorite spots in Venice.”

Keith smiles. “That would be nice.” He lowers his head a little and then he’s off.

Back at the station, James and Ryan follow Shiro in Iverson’s office. A copy on Red’s newest letter is on the desk, and Shiro grabs it as Iverson explains the target, deciphered from the newest riddle presented to them by their suspect. Shiro reads the riddle Red made this time, and then the clear writing of Ina, that signed at the bottom of the copy her deduction with a comment from her part: too easy.

Ina doesn’t generally comment unless there is a reason to. Red’s riddles weren’t impossible, but they still required some skill to interpret them. Evidently, this time the riddle was easy enough to make Ina suspicious.

“Are you listening to me, Shirogane?”

“Yes, Sir. We’ll go immediately to check out the target location and set up surveillance.” But as soon as they were outside the room, he adds, “go first, I’ll join you later.”

“Something wrong?” James inquires.

“No, but I want to check something out beforehand.”

He returns to his desk. The painting in question, the portrait of a [woman in a red dress](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camille_Doncieux#/media/File:Claude_Monet-Madame_Monet_en_costume_japonais.jpg), is on Ina’s list of possible targets. Or maybe, it’s what Red wanted everyone to believe, therefore the easier riddle. The artist, in this case, is Claude Monet, so Shiro takes out the list Lance made and the folder Nadia prepared about the painting in question.

And he immediately notices something: all the Monets stolen had the same subject matter- a lady by the name of Camille Doncieux- but they something else in common. They were made during the same time period, before he and his fellow Impressionists were even called such. It was a very big detail, and Shiro finds it strange Lance didn’t notice it. Maybe it was easy to find similarities in paintings themselves than in their history. Yet…

He calls Ina back. “Can you check MUVE to see if there is a Monet painting that was made before 1872?”

“One second,” she answers. “Yes, there is one. However, according to what I can find, it was bought by a private collector several years ago. There are no other Monets in Venice’s civic catalogs from that time period other than the portrait of Madame Monet.”

“Send the specifics of that other work to me.”

It’s a small landscape, with a [windmill hanging lazily in the background of a bright red sky](https://co.pinterest.com/pin/649222102505345901). Looking at it and at the riddle, Shiro can see that painting is another solution to the riddle sent by Red. A satisfied smile formed on Shiro’s face: if Red is trying this hard to throw them off the trail of his real target, then he was getting desperate-and it means Shiro is getting closer to corner him.

All right, Shiro decides. He would let Red believe everyone fell for his trap, and the police at large would set up a stakeout at the museum where the portrait hung. Let him get overconfident, while Shiro would go to the house of the private owner of the landscape and surprise him.

Still… it led to an interesting possibility for Shiro to consider. Perhaps Red always chose multiple paintings with the same characteristics whenever he crafted his heists, just in case the police got too close to capturing him. That way, he can switch out the work he is stealing, claiming it had always been his primary objective, and have it always be the correct answer to his riddle regardless.

Shiro frowns. ~~~~

Confuse and throw into chaos- that is Red’s modus operandi. Still, there was the question of motive. Why these paintings? What was Red really after with all this thievery?

He calls Ina again. “Can you tell me if any other museum or private buyer database in Italy happens to possess information on any artwork that matches the precise properties that I previously gave you?”

After that, he digs into Ryan’s research. As usual, he was meticulous, and had the Carabinieri send a list of the theft that had occurred since Red’s earliest known heist, to check if there is any commonality in method and between all of the incidents.

That’s when he notices it. In Naples and Rome, the other two paintings were stolen in the same period of Red’s attics. What stood out was that these paintings-called the Green Lion and the Yellow Lion-were painted within the last five years, unlike every other work that has been taken by Red. That, and the lack of announcement from Red’s side, convinced the Carabinieri Red wasn’t the culprit.

Shiro read more about them. The artist was one Alfor Altea, a man who was unfortunately deceased two years ago if his profile is accurate.

A quick search shows Shiro another painting, the Blue Lion, which was stolen from the owner’s villa in Sicily around a month before Red’s antics were said to have started. The culprit was never found, just like the painting. All three had apparently been a part of Altea’s final suite of works, called the Castle of Lions. It turns out, to Shiro’s surprise, that there are two other paintings in the set, the Red Lion and the Black Lion. The Black Lion disappeared just before the painter’s death and hasn’t been seen since. The other was sold at auction last year in London, and the current owner is…

Zarkon Galra.

Shiro takes a deep breath and he tries to calm himself at the thought of that man. The leader of the Galra clan, and the one criminal he let get away. Of course, he is a part of this-

Ina’s call brings him back. “No, with that combination there aren’t any cities available.”

It makes sense. If his hunch is right, the Castle of Lions quintet is Red’s true target. The Red Lion is the last one of the collection that can be accounted for. Shiro realizes then that it is possible that Red is stealing the Castle of Lions paintings because he works for Zarkon, as unsavory a thought as it is. If that is the case, arresting him will mean a potential witness against that man.

The other possibility is that Red is going to steal them from Zarkon. There is no way Zarkon would suffer anyone stealing a toothpick from him, much less something as valuable as a painting, and if that is what Red intends, then he will be putting himself in untold danger.

Either way, the best course of action is to arrest Red before it’s too late.

***

Keith has a habit of working at night, for obvious reasons. It’s easier to walk when the streets are empty, the air cold, the atmosphere dark, and generally there is a sense of danger and chillness.

Venice is different from any other city he visited. It feels older, more dangerous. Keith can practically sense the presence of the city’s ancient ghosts, their cold tendrils curling around him in the night wind. Not that he’s going to admit that to anyone- Lance would be especially annoying if he ever found out. ~~~~

Still, the dark chill doesn’t leave him as his custom gondola rides through the canal and beneath the Bridge of Sighs, guided by enhanced GPS; Pidge is the one piloting it, albeit through remote control back at the villa. Keith’s current job is to lie down, be silent, and not get spotted. Thankfully it’s late and the tide is higher than normal in the Canal Grande; the small waterway he turns onto is dark, with every window shuttered. Boat traffic is practically nonexistent as he glides towards his destination.

“You’re there,” Pidge informs him over the comms he has in his ear.

Keith carefully stands up, surveys the area to make sure nobody is around, then throws the hook up onto the roof, he climbs the wall of the palazzo, holding onto the rope. Once he reaches the window, he takes out his knife and cleanly unhinges the shutter. With a foot on the sill, Keith then cuts out a piece of window glass so he can open it without hurting himself. Finally, he jumps inside, silent as a panther.

According to Hunk, the painting should be hanging on the right wall, just above the mantel of the fireplace. Using the natural light from outside to guide him, Keith slides against the wall until he feels his hand touching the frame of the Monet. He’s about to snatch it off its hooks when the on study light is suddenly switched on, momentarily blinding him.

When his eyes finally adjust, Shiro is already there, blocking the window. The door of the room is closed, and Keith suspects it’s locked too. He’s trapped, unless he can somehow take down his adversary.

Shiro smiles softly. “Finally we have a chance to meet face to face, Red.”

“What’s happening?” Pidge asks, voice frantic.

“Inspector Shirogane…” Keith exhales.

“Wait! He’s there?!” He can hear her furiously tapping. “But the police are at the museum. I can see them through the camera feed…”

“Are you here alone, Inspector? That’s pretty brave of you to think you can take me on by yourself.”

“I’ll call Lance immediately, get out of there, now!”

“I read a lot about you,” Shiro whispers. He has a gun in his hand. “You don’t carry weapons, and there’s been no report of injury otherwise. I’m not in danger, but you.” Now the gun points at Keith. “You’re under arrest.”

“Are you really going to shoot me, Inspector?” Keith asks. He lets the painting and takes a step towards him. “Just like you said, I’m unarmed.”

“Not if I don’t have to. Don’t try to resist.”

What Keith needs is a momentary distraction, a way for him to throw himself out of the window. He doubts Shiro will really shoot him, not when he’s got nothing to threaten the Inspector with.

He takes another step forward, the gun brushing against his chest. “So, what are you going to do?”

They look at each other, their deep breathing the only sound to be heard in the room. Then, Keith lifts his hand, grabs the gun and pulls it out of the other’s grip. The movement startles Shiro, who fears that Keith is going to use the gun against him; instead, Keith drops it and pushes himself towards the window. He feels something grabbing him by his cloak, and then he’s pushed to the ground, Shiro above him with his knee on Keith’s back. The officer then pulls Keith’s hands behind his back.

“Nice try, but you’re still under arrest, Red.”

Keith grits his teeth and tries to struggle, but Shiro’s grip is too strong. He still has some tricks to help him escape – opening a pair of handcuffs is easy for him – but he doubts Shiro will be so nice to keep his mask on for the time he needs. Once his identity is discovered, it’s over for Keith’s plan and for Keith himself.

Then, his instinct kicks in, and he hears something outside the door. With his last strength, he kicks Shiro out of himself just before Shiro can take out the handcuffs.

“GET DOWN!” he screams as a warning, just before the shooting starting.

A piercing, burning pain sears through his arm. Keith covers himself with his own mantle as the shots pierce through the locked door, shattering windows and sending wall plaster and wooden splinters afield. There are four, maybe five guns, Keith guesses. It isn’t hard to figure out who is shooting at them.

“Are you okay? Keith? What’s happening?!” Pidge yells in his ear ~~s~~.

When the silence returns, Keith peeks out from beneath his cloak. The door is half broken, and he can see the attackers entering the room. Shiro is few meters from him, and he seems fine. In a rush, Keith stands up and grabs him by the arm.

“We have to go.”

He doesn’t wait for any answer. The window is almost destroyed, but the rope is still here. Keith grabs it and slips back down and onto the gondola. A second later, Shiro lands next to him, shakily standing up. He has the gun on his hand, and he’s looking back at the window, ready to shot at the attackers.

The windows around are lit up now, and Keith is sure someone is going to call the police any moment now.

“I’m back at the gondola, but I need to leave. Now!”

“I’m on it!” Pidge answers on the comms.

The gondola starts moving slowly, and the attackers appear at the window. Shiro fires several warning shots, forcing them back into the room. That is when the gondola starts moving, speeding out of the waterway and into the Canal Grande.

“Nice move,” Shiro says, nodding at the gondola. Then, he wryly motions back towards the scene of the crime. “Friends of yours?”

“Definitely not,” Keith replies. Then, he turns around to look at Shiro. “Do you still want to arrest me?”

“Of course. You just trespassed on private property and tried to steal a Monet,” he replies with a smile. Then, his face hardens. “Those men. They’re from the Galra, aren’t they?”

And Keith is too surprised to hide that.

“Listen, Red. Those men are dangerous, but I can help you. I can protect you. If you surrender-”

With the corner of his eyes, Keith sees Lance running towards them at the dock. Without any hesitation, Keith shoves fast and hard to the right, violently rocking the boat. Shiro, who is still standing on unsteady legs, finally loses his balance and falls into the dark water. While the gondola sails away, Keith watches Shiro emerge ~~s~~ from the inky liquid while Lance throws him a rope to haul him back towards dry land.

“I’m coming back. Mission abort,” Keith says. “Bring me home.”

Pidge does, and she doesn’t have a snarky remark ready for him this time.

***

“Explain to me again how this happened,” Sanda growls.

For once, Shiro can’t blame her for being mad. They’re back in Iverson’s office, and Shiro is still wearing the wet and dirty clothes from the night before. Iverson nods at Shiro to repeat his story.

“I was staking out the museum with everyone else,” Shiro starts, fully know full well James and Ryan are going to cover for him, as part of his plan. “Red was late, so I became suspicious because Red is never late for his own heist, especially not when his letter spelled out his intentions and timeframe once it was deciphered.”

“Last night could have been an exception,” Sanda murmurs.

“But it wasn’t, was it?” Shiro replies. “Anyways, I did some extra research of my own before last night and realized that another Monet in the city might be Red’s true objective. And I was right.”

“Yet, you decided to go there alone, without any reinforcement and without informing your superior officer-or me-of your movements,” Sanda comments. “That is a blatant violation of procedure; anyone else would be suspended if not fired for that kind of stunt!”

“And I apologize for it. If I’m punished after this case is closed, so be it. But I didn’t want to risk the entire operation over something that could have been an exception, just like you said before.”

“I should point out that he did warn us about the risk of having too many people interfering with the investigation, and you agreed with him. He hasn’t yet done anything that you didn’t sanction, at least so far as I can see,” Iverson points out.

Sanda scrutinizes Shiro. “Fine. So you were heading towards the house where you thought Red would strike, heard shooting, and attempted to get there faster by grabbing a boat?” she asks. “You didn’t enter the house illegally, by any chance, I hope? According to the incident report filed by the neighbors, the owner of that palazzo is out of the country. You understand there would be no way for them to cooperate with your little side investigation.”

“Of course not,” Shiro lies.

Despite his present reputation of being crisp and clean with his methods, old habits from his past die hard-and partaking in borderline illegal actions remain among those habits Shiro indulges in. Still, with all the criminals he’d jailed, he doubted that anyone was really aware of just how many times he’d broken the law himself, Sanda included.

“Like I said, when I heard the shooting I commandeered the nearest boat and set towards the house. I was at the landing nearest to the location when Red fell from one of the second-floor windows. I had little choice but to shoot back and defend myself, and the culprit. If I hadn’t we would have both been sitting ducks, and you’d have had a dead thief and a dead cop to contend with, ma’am.”

“And-so you claim-just as there was a lull in the shooting, Red pushed you into the water, stole your boat, and escaped from your custody once again.”

Sanda isn’t amused; once again, Shiro was so close, yet Red evaded him and is still at large. Shiro doesn’t correct her about Red’s actions, as it is the only reasonably true part of his story about the whole mess. As the silence drags on, Shiro can’t help but wonder about what really happened.

Red the Thief had no incentive to aid the man who was out to arrest him. Yet he didn’t use the gun to shoot Shiro when it was dropped, even though he was so close there was no way Red would miss his shot. Then he took the time to get Shiro out of danger before he escaped. So Red may be a thief, but he isn’t a killer. On the contrary, he has killers on his tail, just as Shiro suspected.

“What about Lance Serrano?” Iverson asks. “His lawyer came immediately to bail him out, but to be honest I didn’t have much to keep him anyways.”

“I don’t trust him,” Shiro answers immediately. “He’s definitely hiding something.”

He had previously told Sanda and Iverson that Lance had probably followed Shiro he left the museum, and given that Lance had already claimed a desire to personally nab Red, they believed him. The problem, of course, was that Shiro hadn’t been at the museum at all last night, nor had the details of Red’s most recent calling card yet been released to the public. The only way Lance could have been at the dock to fish him out was if Lance had already known beforehand that Red the Thief had targeted the privately-owned Monet to begin with.

This leaves only two possibilities, so far as Shiro is concerned. Either Lance is one of Red’s accomplices working in plain sight, or he’s working for Zarkon and the Galra cartel. Either way, he can’t let Lance interfere with the investigation anymore.

“Unfortunately, I can’t prove anything against him, at least for now.”

“And the shooters?” Sanda folds her arms. “What about them?”

“I didn’t get a good look at them. However, given the caliber of weapons they were using, I suspect they may be part of a mafia-style operation.”

Sanda stiffens. Shiro knows that she knows that there’s only one major mafia group that he could be referring to: Zarkon’s. And when it came to Shiro and Zarkon…

“Never rains, but it pours, huh?” Iverson nods. “What are we going to do?”

“The journalists are already on my back about the shooting,” Sanda says. “I’ll try to make a statement and hope the mayor won’t try to intervene. You, meanwhile,” she pointed to Shiro, “need to keep a low profile, for now, and let the T.P.C. take the lead on the Red investigation ~~s~~.”

She anticipates Shiro’s protests and quickly adds, “I’m not taking you off the case just yet. You did somehow prevent Red’s theft last night and helped minimize casualties, even if you didn’t complete the arrest, so that tells me your intuitions are still useful. I’m just pointing out that someone you were unaware was involved did try to shoot at you last night, and that tells me that this is turning into a situation that might get dicey.”

“And we have to be careful, if Zarkon’s gang is back in the city,” Iverson says, with a quick look at Shiro’s prosthetic. “You, especially. No more stakeouts for you, alone or otherwise.”

“…Fine,” Shiro agrees. “I’ll lay low for now.”

It’s the best Shiro can hope for at the moment. Given his past with Zarkon, it’s a miracle Sanda hasn’t just arranged for him to be dismissed from the force entirely, much less the case.

James and Ryan are at his desk, waiting for him and his explanation of what is happening. “We still have the case, at least somewhat, but there’s a problem,” Shiro announces, explaining to them both what really happened the night before (albeit with some omissions regarding some specifics of Red’s behavior) and the way he reached his conclusions about Zarkon’s possible role in the situation.

“Ryan,” Shiro says then. “I want you to keep Lance Serrano under surveillance. I also want everything you can find in his history, his previous residence, everything.”

Shiro has no doubt that Lance’s brief time in jail will chasten him, making him less willing to interfere in the investigation regardless of who he works for. It’s even possible he might not ever see Lance again. Still, his hope is that whatever they can find on him will be helpful in figuring Red out as well.

“James is already on it,” Ryan says, and James nods as proof.

“All right. We need to have Ina or Nadia check Leonardo. I want to know everything about a painter named Alfor Altea and about any work of art created by him that is listed as having been stolen.”

“Already done, boss.” James smiles. “And if you need a coffee, do you want me do distract the journalist outside?”

“Please, yes!” Shiro exhales with a long sigh.

While James goes outside the police station with Ryan and the journalists immediately surround them, Shiro slips outside a secondary door. He breaths again only when he sits down on his table at Sal’s, alone and far from those parasites.

Sal appears out of nowhere with a cup of dark coffee and places him before Shiro. He has the decency of not asking anything, reserving Shiro just a little encouraging smile. Shiro delights the coffee with calm, and throws eyes on the inside of the café, but Keith’s isn’t there.

A chair at his table is suddenly moved out, and a giant man takes his seat in front of Shiro. Shiro turns with a frown, fearing it’s a journalist, but it’s even worse.

“Sendak,” Shiro growls.

“My, my, so hostile,” Sendak smiles pleasantly. “Aren’t you happy to see an old friend?”

“We aren’t friends, and considering the last time we saw each other I lost my arm, you should already have your answer.”

“You used to be more fun.”

“As if you didn’t find last night fun?” Shiro grumbles, and at this Sendak smirks amused.

“Just like old times, I can’t complain. You should have seen the look on your face.”

“What do you want, Sendak?”

“Relax,” he says, when Shiro startles a little once he puts his hand in his pocket. “I’m not armed. Just here to deliver a message from the boss. It’s almost Shrove Tuesday, after all.”

He places an envelope on the table and pushes a little towards Shiro, before standing up.

“Enjoy your coffee.”

He leaves without another word. Shiro looks at the envelope with a suspicious eye, but in the end, he takes it and opens it.

It’s an invitation for the Carnevale party Zarkon will host at his house, next month.


	2. Part 2

If Keith could have left, he would have. But he’s tired, the bed is soft, and his arm still stings. So he lies, the uninjured arm over his eyes, while Hunk and Pidge talk at the foot of the bed. He doesn’t have the strength to interrupt them, to tell them he wants to rest.

“They followed Shirogane to the house,” Pidge says again, for the hundred times. “They didn’t find us.”

“But they know we’re after the painting, otherwise why would they open fire?” Hunk replies. “All the effort we put in to keep Zarkon and his men off our trail, and the result is that Keith almost died.”

“Oh, he’s fine, the bullet barely scratched him. He got nine lives, like a cat.”

Keith decides Pidge is complimenting him and keeps silent.

“We’ve lost Lance too,” Hunk reminds her. “He may not be in jail, but the Inspector’s onto him. The police have a team watching him like a hawk, and there’s no way he can come here without them following.” He takes a deep breath. “We have no choice. We have to abort and get out of the city.”

“No!” Pidge complains. “We can’t abandon this, we still have a chance! Zarkon may know someone is after the Red Lion, but he still doesn’t know it’s us. We still have that advantage over him.”

“There’s no way Zarkon hasn’t beefed up his security now that he knows the Red Lion’s being sought,” Hunk counters. “Maybe we have all we need. We have a majority of the paintings, right? Maybe we can find someone who’s willing to listen to us, someone outside the Italian art market. Maybe we could go directly to Interpol! Or your father, Pidge, doesn’t he have connections in the Italian government-”

“No.” Finally, Keith speaks. “We can’t stop now. We’re in too deep.”

“But Keith…” Hunk murmurs. “You’re just delirious from the pain.”

“No, I’m not.”

This is the first time Keith feels his life has some meaning, that he’s doing something important. He isn’t going to just give up after getting so far.

“We either get the entire Castle of Lions suite, or none of them. Anyways, it’s better Lance lies low for the moment,” he adds. “We’ll take our time and find another way to possess the Red Lion. Let’s step back, lie low, and have Red the Thief vanish from existence for a little bit. Make the police and Zarkon think they’ve scared us out of Venice, while we plan to strike.”

“But-” Hunk tries again, just as Keith’s cellphone rings, interrupting him. Keith reaches it with his free hand.

“Unknown number.”

“It’s Zarkon! He’s found us!”

“You cased all our phones with military-grade signal blockers, Hunk. There’s no way he can track us, you know that! You build it.” Pidge sighs. “Answer and put the loudspeaker on, I’ll see if I can trace it.”

Keith nods and presses the touch screen to answer. “Hello?” he asks, his tone uncertain.

“Hi, Keith,” Shiro’s voice echoes into the room. “Sorry, it’s Shiro. I mean, Inspector Shirogane. I was at Sal’s today, and he told me you’re not feeling good, so I was a little worried and he… he’s kinda worried about me too, I guess, so he gave me your number so we could talk. I hope it’s okay.”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Keith has two numbers, and the one he gave Sal is for the burner phone. It doesn’t matter if Shiro has it.

“How are you?”

“Fine. It’s just a cold, you know? I’ll be back up in a couple of days.”

“Oh. Good to hear.”

“What about you? I heard the news, it’s saying some crazy stuff about you.”

“The only thing wounded is my pride,” Shiro chuckles lightly. “Not good, but it could be worse.”

“I’m glad.”

There is a small bit of silence and tension between him and Shiro, something Keith attributes to the fact Hunk and Pidge are in the same room with him and listening to everything he’s saying. He’s bad enough at flirting and lying without having spectators to it. That, and the fact that he and Shiro been so close to one another two nights before makes Keith feel a little bit vulnerable; even if it’s probably an irrational fear, given that he’d remained unmasked, he feels like Shiro might know the truth about him.

“Listen,” Shiro says. “My superior asked me to take a few days off, to recover from what happened and let the situation with Red the Thief calms down. So… I was wondering if you’d like that Venice tour I promised you.”

Keith hesitates. Flirting with the Inspector at the café is risky enough as it is. Now, the more time he and Shiro spends together outside that, the more likely it becomes that Shiro will realize Red and Keith are the same people, and Keith isn’t exactly looking forward to that moment. On the other hand, he realizes that he does genuinely want to spend some time with Shiro outside of being chased by him or being made to glean information from him.

Shiro seems like a genuinely kind person, if a little bit closed-off, and just like Lance said, Shiro is his type-tall and buff. Yet the more they interact, the more it will look like Keith is just using Shiro for his escapades as Red if-or maybe when-the truth comes out. Keith sighs; it just would have been better if he met Shiro under different circumstances.

Pidge lifts one of her tablets, the words ‘accept the offer’ scribbled onto it. She probably hopes Keith will use the time they have together to learn what Shiro knows with regards to Zarkon. Shiro’s words from the botched mission implied he had a history with the Galra; perhaps she thinks Shiro is the key to ultimately gaining access to the Red Lion.

How she hasn’t yet understood how bad of a spy Keith is remains a mystery.

Still, he’s happy Pidge gives him an excuse to say yes to Shiro.

***

“The Caffè Florian, eh?”

“Well, it’s not my favorite place, and it’s definitely one of the pricier places in Venice but… it’s the Caffè Florian,” Shiro explains. “If we want to do a nice tour of Venice, we can’t miss it.”

At his side, Keith smiles. “I trust you on this.”

There is a cold wind outside, so they sit inside, surrounded by centuries-old tables and fluffy armchair and the decorated wall. They order two cups of hot chocolate and a piece of tiramisu cake to share; it’s not exactly the dessert that the Caffè is best known for, but apparently Keith likes it, from the way his eyes light up at the menu.

“So,” Keith murmurs. “You’re taking a break from the case?”

Shiro shrugs. “More or less. I don’t know what you read about what happened…”

“I read one of the newspapers, but I don’t believe everything that they wrote about you,” Keith adds immediately. “They always seem to just say whatever they need to sell a lot of copies.”

“Oh. Well, thanks,” Shiro says sincerely. “Anyway, the truth is that things are getting a little more dangerous and complicated, and whenever that happens, it’s best to step back, at least temporarily. That’s why my chief and the public prosecutor are having me take an unplanned vacation.”

“That’s it? For how long?”

“For now. A couple of days at the least. I’m not giving up, though. I can still work at home, do some research on leads from my desk, so that’s what I plan on doing. That way when I return to the field I’ll be more prepared than ever.”

“I see. It must be hard knowing whatever you know, with all the speculation being tossed out in the media. You can’t even say anything to clear things up.”

“I’m used to it. Besides, from my point of view, it’s better that way. Can’t let our culprits figure out what we really have on them, yeah? Plus, you don’t want to risk hurting civilians in the line of duty.”

“I… of course.”

Keith lowers his head, taking advantage of the fact that their waiter is bringing over their food. The cocoa is sweet and dense, and a hot trail of steam swirls upwards from it. Keith attacks the cake first.

“So, how are your classes going?” Shiro asks.

“Fine, just fine,” Keith answers briefly, head still down. Then he takes the cup and despite the hotness of the cocoa, he takes a long, slow sip. Then, licking his lips, he immediately takes another swig.

Shiro is still there, warming his hands with the cup. “I guess it was good?”

“It was,” Keith smiles. “I didn’t expect it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the Florian.”

“You didn’t think the oldest and most prestigious coffeehouse in Venice would have good food?”

Keith shrugs. “Given where it is? It seemed too touristy to be of any kind of quality. I guess this place is an exception to the rule when it comes to tourist traps.”

“Hey now, Venice is no tourist trap. If anything, Venice taken as a whole is the exception to the rule-like you just said,” Shiro points out.

“Is that so?”

With a skeptical smile, Keith looks outside the window. Shiro follows his gaze.

Piazza San Marco visible from where they sit, and it’s completely full of obnoxious tourists of all shapes and colors, taking selfies and feeding the droves of pigeons that flock to the cobblestone. Those birds that aren’t being fed.

After all, it’s the last Saturday of January, smack dab in the middle of Carnevale. Shiro is well aware that Carnevale is one of the big reasons all those tourists are jammed together, almost shoulder to shoulder, this time of the year. As he watches, a troupe of masked performers dressed in baroque attire begins to assemble for the crowds to photograph.

“Okay,” he holds his hands up, “I realize this place isn’t the best example of the non-touristy part of Venice, but… even this place is really gorgeous and can take your mind off all that, you know? Imagine this same place existing just as it is, with fewer people, a century ago.”

“You mean when everyone had the plague?” Keith chuckles.

“Oh God, no, not that. Too far back!” Shiro laughs. “My point is that wouldn’t be as people around, because not as many people lived or visited. There would be fewer pigeons, too, probably.”

“But there would be more rats,” Keith adds, amused. “You can still catch plague from rats, by the way.”

“You really want to ruin my fun, don’t you?” Shiro fakes annoyance.

“Well, it isn’t the Plague Doctor one of the original Carnevale masks?” Keith replies, with a little smirk. “I mean, I always figured that the Black Death is an integral part of Venice’s history and culture.”

“It is. That, and the floods,” Shiro admits, with a big smile.

The cocoa has cooled enough, so Shiro takes a sip of it and observes Keith for a few moments. He’s gorgeous as always, with just a red leather jacket over a black t-shirt despite the cold outside.

“So, tell me about you,” Shiro asks. “You told me you’re from somewhere around Rome, right?”

Keith seems to pale at the question. “I don’t want to talk about me. Sorry, I’m not that big on talking about me today.” He quickly finishes his cocoa. “I want you to talk. You know, about Venice.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you promise me a tour of the city? Well, I’m here, and I’m ready.”

Shiro grins. “Fine.” He takes the sip of his cocoa. “But when it’s over, just remember that you asked for it.”

They leave the Florian once they finish their snack, welcomed by the chilly wind when they get outside. With a natural gesture, Shiro places a hand around Keith’s shoulder to keep him near so they can warm each other. Keith freezes a little at first, but he doesn’t run from Shiro’s touch.

It’s a complete tour of Shiro’s favorite spots and stories about Venice; most of them aren’t the most famous around, so they walk down _calli_ and through small _campos_ that people don’t usually take or even know of. The landmarks they visit are quiet, and to some, they might have even been boring to look at, yet Keith always smiles whenever Shiro brings up an amusing anecdote about the places he points out to the student. Time seems to have no meaning when he’s around Keith, and by the time they arrive at the Canal Grande only when the sun begins to dip beneath the skyline.

“Hey. You see that palace across the water?” Shiro points out.

“The one with the white façade?” Keith asks. “Nice.”

“No, not that one. The taller one next to it, on the left.”

“Okay. Less nice, even if it’s got some décor out front.”

“It’s even less nice when you hear the story about it.” Shiro chuckles. “That’s the [CàDario](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palazzo_Dario), and it’s half a millennium old. Local legends say it’s cursed, as its first owner built over a Templar cemetery. Since then, dozens of people, those who either owned the place or who stayed there for more than two weeks, have either been murdered, killed themselves, gone bankrupt, or otherwise been the victim of a bizarre accident soon after they came near the palazzo. Even today, no fisherman ever casts their net near the property, lest they offend all the ghosts that are said to haunt what they call ‘the house that kills’.

“Oh, wow. Must be a nice place to live in.” Then, Keith smiles.

“Yep. But I guess it’s perfectly ideal for whoever currently owns it.”

Keith looks at him curiously, but Shiro doesn’t give an explanation. Keith doesn’t need to know that Zarkon is the current owner; for all Shiro knows, even the ghosts of the cursed palazzo, if they are real, wouldn’t dare try to cross the head of the Galra cartel. 

“Shiro?” Keith interrupts his thoughts. “How come all the legends you’re telling me about Venice are dark and grim and depressing? Innocents being killed over false allegations, sons killing their mothers, ghosts that haunt you in the dark of the night…”

“It’s true,” Shiro admits. “But I guess that, for us, it’s easier to face fear if we listen to those kinds of stories. But there are also positive stories and places that show the better side of Venice, I promise. How about we visit Murano next time? We can visit the glass factories and the Museo del Vetro-it’s all very beautiful.”

With a smile, Keith answers, “that’ll be nice.”

***

The one date became two, then four, then too many to count.

Keith is still stuck in Venice. All of Red’s planned heists are still on hold–even if the criminal case has stalled thanks to Shiro’s decreased involvement and the lack of action on his part, Zarkon is still out there. There’s little doubt in anyone’s mind that Zarkon isn’t going to give up the Red Lion-and that he’s well aware someone is attempting to hijack it from him.

Unfortunately for Keith’s team, they can’t leave Venice without the painting, and they haven’t yet figured out a way of getting the Red Lion away from Zarkon, one that doesn’t result in everyone ending up face-down in the Canal Grande with bullets in their brains.

As a result, Keith has plenty of free time on his hands to do whatever the hell he wants, and it brings Keith something he hasn’t had in a long time: something resembling a normal life. He finds himself eating normal meals throughout the day, getting more rest than he used to at night, and even attending a class every so often at the college he’s supposed to be attending as a cover.

Most of his time, however, is spent with Shiro. While it is true that he was only initially doing it to check on the progress of the inspector’s investigation, that isn’t exactly why he does it now. Truth be told, and he’s surprised Pidge hasn’t teased him over it yet, Keith found himself genuinely enjoying Shiro’s company. The man is gorgeous, witty, gentle, and kind, on top of being intelligent, principled and- for a cop, at least-forthright. ~~~~

He’s also, unbelievably, the reason Keith finds himself liking Venice.

Keith isn’t a fan of cities, and never was. He had always found them to be dingy, dank, and overcrowded to the point of being suffocated. He always preferred the quiet aesthetic of a Appennine mountain village, like the one he lived in during his childhood, or the cool wind that blew off the Mediterranean onto an isolated beach with golden sand, like those his mother would take him to when he was young.

Cities, by contrast, are chaotic and noisy.

When he first arrived in Venice, he’d been convinced that it was by far the worst of the cities in Italy. Rome was chaotic, but it had its own charm; both it and Naples had something of a tourism off-season, and were close enough to mountains that you had a chance of retreating from the city by simply driving off into the distance. Venice, meanwhile, is a bunch of dirty, tourist-infested islands surrounded by dark, smelly water that are inundated with garbage and are prone to flooding.

Yet Shiro makes him see the beauty in it, whether it’s in the way he speaks so passionately about the big local landmarks, or in how his eyes brighten and shine when they come upon a place far off the beaten path, and the way he smiles when Keith shows interest in all his tales and anecdotes about the little nooks and crannies of the old Republic’s secret treasure.

Shiro shows Keith how to see Venice as he sees it, as a fascinating mosaic of history and culture with more to it than meets the eye.

“I have something for you.”

Shiro takes the notebook Keith is giving him and he leafs through it, an expression of pleasant surprise forming on his face. It’s a collection of Keith’s sketches, all of them surprisingly detailed. They depict places that he and Shiro visited together, albeit without the tourists or the dirt. And, of course, there were no pigeons either.

“You did all this?”

Keith nods. “It’s your Venice. I wanted to make it a reality.”

He expects Shiro to thank him, maybe shake his hand or something like that. He doesn’t expect Shiro to leap forward and kiss him with such force and passion that it takes Keith’s breath away. Suddenly, it is as if the stars are aligned in perfect harmony, and the world is right and nothing bad is going to happen to the two of them. ~~~~

“My place or yours?” Shiro pants when he finally breaks it off.

“Yours is closer,” Keith says.

It takes them a half hour to get there, in between the kissing, the caressing, the heavy breathing.

“I have to say, I’m not usually… I haven’t… done this…” Shiro starts, cheeks reddening with a deepening embarrassment once they finally enter his small apartment, in between kissing and touching Keith. He almost seems hesitant the closer they get to do it.

“Lube. And condom,” Keith orders.

“Yes… all right…”

Shiro manages to fumble both out from the bottom of a wardrobe, and as he had implied, they don’t seem to be have used for a very long time. However, it is not merely a lack of a sex life which turns out to be the true reason for Shiro’s reluctance. Once Keith manages to take off Shiro’s shirt, Shiro almost automatically steps backward as if burned, head bowing down in shame.

His bare torso reveals the prosthetic arm in all its artificial glory, along with the scarring that covers his torso and back. Some of the scars look like cuts, but some are bigger and deeper than to be merely that. A massive portion around where his prosthetic lay looks to be burn marks, the likes of which seem indicate to Keith the presence of an explosion that wouldn’t have been out of place in a big-budget Hollywood movie.

Shiro chuckles a little, his head still down and his voice thick with humiliation. “Sorry, I’m… not what you thought I was. I know how it looks, how I look...”

“You’re gorgeous,” Keith whispers.

He cuts through the space between him and Shiro and placed a hand on the other’s hip, gently caressing the rough skin. Shiro’s breath comes out with a shudder, but he doesn’t move from the touch. Slowly, Keith gets down on his knees, kissing Shiro’s body as he goes downward, scars and all. Then, he looks up and takes up the prosthetic hand, his lips pecking at each and every trembling metal finger. It’s surprisingly warm.

“God… please fuck me,” Shiro whispers. He’s already hard.

Keith doesn’t waste any more time, and after he stands back up, he pushes Shiro toward the bed. But in the end, it is Shiro that trapped him under his arms, and starts to undressing Keith like he is a precious, priceless work of art. Shiro looks at Keith with soft eyes, like he’s so wonderful and perfect and just downright good; for once in his life Keith forgets about himself, about being a broken boy with no dreams, and about being a petty forger and thief, one tasked with what amounted to a suicide mission.

Shiro’s gaze, the way he holds him and the way he kisses him, makes Keith think, for the first time in an eternity, he’s actually worthy of something. Worthy of someone like Shiro. It’s an illusion, a lie, but damn if it isn’t the best lie he’s ever had to endure.

As he expected and hoped, Shiro is a sweet lover, one that liked to take his time, and he makes sure both of them savor the moment. But Keith also finds that his lover is a sap, and prefers to bottom, so Keith enjoys greatly his ecstatic moans as Keith first sucks his dick and, once he is begging for more, fucks him later. Once it is over, he looks down at the man’s soft, relaxed face as he caresses Keith’s face, as it’s the most important thing he can ever possibly possess.

He doesn’t leave, not even after they’ve finished. Instead, he spends the night, and shuts his cell phone off-even though he knows Pidge and Hunk are probably having kittens at his lack of communication. Eventually, he falls asleep, in Shiro’s bed, wrapped good and tight in his big warm arms.

When he wakes up, the smell of coffee fills the room: Shiro is up, and judging by the scent he’s in the kitchen, yet the bed is still warm, and his personal smell still there. Keith rolls around in the sheets, enjoying it.

Then, lazily, he tries to grab his cell phone off the nightstand-after all, it would be too cruel to make his team, and Hunk in particular, worry for much longer- and accidentally knocked something else off with his hand.

Quickly he rolls over and finds it’s an envelope. When he takes it and opens it, his heart stops it’s an invitation for Zarkon’s Carnevale party, at the CàDario.

Shiro finds him grasping it tightly in his hands when he comes back, two cups of coffee in tow.

“I bet you didn’t expect me to be able to make coffee…” Shiro falters when he sees what Keith is holding.“…oh.”

“Sorry,” Keith stammered. “It fell off and-”

“It’s fine, I’m not mad,” Shiro shakes his head and gives Keith one cup, putting the other on his dresser. He then plucks the invitation away and puts it in the nightstand drawer. “Carnevale parties are fun and I wish I can bring you to experience what it’s like, just… not this one.”

“You don’t have to explain-”

“No, I think I do,” Shiro states. “The invitation is from Zarkon Galra, the head of the Galra gang. I can’t- I won’t bring you anywhere near him.”

Keith had suspected there having been a connection since the botched Monet theft, but Shiro never brought the topic up around him. Tonight, however, something shifted between them.

“You ought to know, you’d probably find out on your own anyway. When I first started out on the force, I was asked to join an undercover operation to expose the Galra. They’d recently started encroaching on Nuova Mala’s old territory in Venice, killing anyone who didn’t agree to join them; some of the survivors of the purge agreed to cooperate in bringing the Galra down. I and several other recent graduates from the academy… posed as easily corruptible agents. I was recruited into the Galra almost immediately, and I was part of them for several years.”

“Shiro…” Keith places a hand on his shoulder.

“I did a lot of things I still regret, things I still can’t look myself in the mirror for.” Shiro’s voice is bitter. “I didn’t kill anyone, but I hurt people with my actions. Worse, I was good at it. I went up through the ranks of Zarkon’s organization, and I got to see how Zarkon and his cronies worked. I was so close to building an airtight case. But in the end, it was all for nothing. They found out I was a spy, and they tried to destroy me and all my work.

They succeeded. I lost a year of my life after they were done with me, along with my arm, my dignity, and every scrap of evidence I’d compiled. I was in the hospital for so long that I lost my first apartment. And when I was finally well enough to take the stand to testify against Zarkon, I… I couldn’t face him. I could barely speak, everything was still so fresh. I froze up. With that and the lack of evidence, Zarkon’s lawyers were able to paint me as incompetent at best, a liar at worst. And the worst part? After it was over, Zarkon had the gall to tell me to my face I was welcome to rejoin his company any time!”

He brings his left hand to his face.

“And so… he got away. To this day he’s the only criminal I couldn’t put in jail. That’s why now, with Red the Thief, the public prosecutor in charge and media all over the country are questioning whether I can succeed. Zarkon was my biggest case, and I blew it. This one with Red is just as important, maybe even more so. I can’t let him get away with what he’s doing. I can’t let you or any of the other people in this city down again..!”

Keith regrets not being able to tell Shiro everything. No wonder Shiro is so invested in catching Red. If only Shiro could know he isn’t alone when it comes to Zarkon’s crimes-that there are others just like him, who suffered because of the Galra. Instead, Keith can only give cold comfort as he hugs the other from behind.

“…But you didn’t let him get away. And you didn’t lose your dignity,” Keith replies. “At least I don’t think you did. The fact that you stayed with the force and have been so successful, even after something that terrible… if anything, I think you’re very brave for what you’ve done, and anyone who doesn’t see that is stupid. And Zarkon will get what he deserves, I’m sure of it.”

A long silence settles in after that, with Keith holding onto him for what feels like an eternity.

“You’re too sweet.” Finally, after turning around, Shiro smiles and kisses him again. “Maybe you’re right.Maybe one day someone will finally take down Zarkon. I hope I get to see it.”

Shiro is right-someone is going to take Zarkon down. Even though he’s only known the other for a short time, Keith knows he’s ready to do whatever it takes for Shiro’s sake. How fortuitous, then, that Shiro has also given him the perfect opportunity to help, when before all the known avenues of action seemed hopeless. Now, the way is clear, and the reason he came to Venice in the first place is within reach once more. Once he leaves Shiro’s place, the time for Red the Thief to plan the heist of the Red Lion will begin anew.

First things first, though once Shiro leaves Keith alone in the bedroom again, Keith snaps up the invitation and takes a few quick but critical shots of it with his cellphone camera, front and back, nodding as he makes sure his pictures are fully accurate.

Making a convenient and convincing double of something like this once he’s back at the villa will be child’s play.

***

It’s only with great reluctance, when Shrove Tuesday finally arrives, that Shiro presents himself at Zarkon’s party. He can see, as he walks towards the complex, that there were few guests in the house, and not even the master of the house was present.

Shiro presents his invitation to one of the beefy guards that flank the entrance and he’s permitted entrance and whisked through to the ballroom. A simple white porcelain volto (one of the traditional Venetian masks cover the entire face) conceals his identity, as does a wig with black and silver stripes that was tied into a ribbon; the ponytail falls elegantly onto his shoulder.

He wears a fur-lined black cape over a loose black frock coat, the former falling to his knees; the frock coat is opened just to reveal the simple white dress shirt beneath. He also has a dress cane with him, which has a black shaft and white handle, to match his clothes.

He also wears a pair of white gloves, in order to hide his prosthetic arm’s existence. Unfortunately, it’s not enough to prevent Sendak from recognizing him, as almost immediately, the large enforcer bounds over to him, a glass of wine in his hand. Sendak has probably gotten some men to tail him to the costume and mask shops; at that moment, Shiro regrets not getting the Plague Doctor to wear instead, just to let the Galra know how he really felt, as opposed to the more nondescript volto.

“There you are,” Sendak murmurs, with a sweetness that doesn’t sound good on him. “I’m glad you accepted the invitation. The boss would have been disappointed if you hadn’t come.”

After a moment, Shiro sighs, lifts his mask up and accepts the glass of wine Sendak’s offering. He highly doubts that Zarkon would go through all the trouble to invite him to such a public affair, only to abruptly kill him off with a poisoned carafe of alcohol, so he takes a sip.

As he savors the sweetness, he observes that Sendak is wearing a columbine mask that barely even covers his eyes, and nothing to cover his hair. The blue pants with the black high heels, combined with the red doublet, is almost goofy; aside from the fact that making fun of him is a very bad idea, Shiro realizes his costume is more appropriate for a fight than for a party.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” Shiro says. “I know you invited me for some reason, and I’d like to know what that reason is.”

“Such suspicion looks so ugly on you,” Sendak appears offended, though his tone is mocking. “Can’t the boss simply enjoy the company of an old friend?”

“Friends don’t try to kill each other or generally leave someone without their limbs in a burning building,” Shiro rebuts with a snort, “but I guess you learn something new every day.”

“Water under the Rialto, Inspector.” Sendak’s smile is feral and full of satisfaction. “You know we could take you back at anytime, if you would just show us a little more loyalty and gratitude. You were a great worker, despite your little lapse of judgment on account of the legality of our operations. You’re part of the reason business is booming in the whole of Veneto! Hell, the boss still speaks fondly of you.”

“Does he now?”

“Well, I don’t understand it either, but he still follows your work on the force. He’s impressed after everything that’s happened; he says we could still use someone with your type of…” Sendak pauses as his hand waves around to accentuate his point, “determination and focus. You should consider.”

It’s a tempting offer, a way to try to amend his fault by work undercover again, but with more experience on his side. Still, his wounds are pretty fresh, and he has no will to return back so early on that life, no when his guilty is still fresh. He doesn’t forget the humiliation of having failed so bad, and the bad feeling as he saw Zarkon leaving unscattered, all charges dropped out for lack of proof. But at this point, Shiro doesn’t want to walk in the mud again only to take him down.

With a long breath, he asks, serious. “Seriously. Why did you invite me here, Sendak?”

“All right then, friend. I’ll play your game.” Sendak smiles. “We ask one another one question, and we promise to answer honestly, no matter what.”

“Are you sure you want to do that? I could be wired,” Shiro says.

“Nah. You learned your lesson about that kind of thing last time. Besides, you’re off the case for now, and you’re too noble for your own good to go rogue on your friends.”

There is no point asking how Sendak knows about that. Shiro was long ago aware that the department had moles working for the Galra-despite Shiro’s efforts while undercover, there are still some he never learned about, and who had yet to be caught as a result. He takes another sip of wine.

“Fine, but I get to go first, and I want to change the question.”

“Shoot.”

“I want to talk about the paintings. Alfor Altea’s, and the Castle of Lions quintet specifically. Why are they so important?”

For a second, a frown passes on Sendak’s face before he returns to his normal smile. “You haven’t heard, then? The Castle of Lions is the focal point of a ridiculous urban legend regarding the artist.”

“Explain,” Shiro demands.

He had studied Alfor over the weeks. He knew about how the painter was poor, but brilliant, and through hard work and perseverance had made something of himself. Interestingly, he actually started out as a nanoscientist; he earned his Ph.D. at Cambridge and was working for a high-end computer company before finding his hidden artistic talent. He was known as an algorist, albeit one that usually created paintings in a classical realist style, especially in comparison to his contemporaries. He was also known for subtly hiding things within the framing of his works, mainly physical equations and practical jokes on people close to him.

Several of his paintings are well-known despite his recent, brief art career: Rainbow Over Cambridge, A Portrait of the Duchess of Cambridge, The Quintessential Music, Where’s Kalternecker The Cow In This Picture? And others.

Then, a little over two years ago, he died abruptly in his Naples villa, in what was ruled as a freak lab accident, and the value of many of his works skyrocketed.

On the other hand, despite the fact he was a good artist, he was no Monet. Not only that, but despite them being his last completed set of paintings, The Castle of Lions quintet isn’t among his most valuable works. In fact, Sotheby’s had valued them as being among the least sought after of Altea’s works. It was noted that the overall value of the five paintings sold together might be higher, but not by much.

Yet Red the Thief seems to be bent on acquiring them all, and Zarkon is willing to kill over the one he possesses. It makes little sense, even knowing there are plenty of stories about things hidden in Altea’s body of work that people are still looking for. Maybe Sendak can help untangle the mystery.

“Alfor Altea was a genius and a pioneer in the art world. Do you know that it’s been proven that nearly every one of his paintings are forgery-proof, because of the unique way he created them? He used a seamless mixture of traditional and technological media, alongside a slew of unorthodox techniques that were so complicated, they’ll be trying to figure out how to duplicate them for the next 500 years.”

At Shiro’s positive nods, Sendak continues, “but, as geniuses often are, he was a little bit crazy, and in the end he became a little bit paranoid. Apparently, he feared people wanted to kill him, or worse, for upending the art markets with his work.”

“Given the way he died, I’m not sure those fears were entirely unfounded.”

“Even if the police already deemed it an unfortunate accident? Suit yourself.” Sendak shrugs. “The point is that even if it wasn’t true, the story goes that Alfor believed it was true, and as a result he wanted to create one final set of paintings containing some big world-changing secret of his before it happened.”

“And that special world-changing set of art would be the Castle of Lions?”

“If you believe that idiotic story, you might as well start believing in Father Christmas. I’ve heard all the stories about what apparently happens when you bring them together-it shows the date of the world will end! A billion euros will pop out of thin air! It becomes a map to freaking Atlantis, where Alfor and the other lizard people mind-control the government from afar!”

Sendak scoffs, before continuing.

“Come on. They’re just paintings. Nice paintings like all of the guy’s other work, but still just paintings with a low market value and overall quality compared to the rest of his portfolio, and no one’s been able to find this so-called big secret of his by looking at any of them. Besides, Alfor’s life was otherwise an open book, and any money and property he owned went to his daughter in America. There’s nothing else to it.”

Sendak shrugs again. “Still, I guess someone still believes the story.”

“Zarkon possesses one of those paintings,” Shiro points out, “and he seems ready to kill everyone that tries to take it from him.”

“Of course, but he’s not done anything like that which you can prove in a court. And anyway, even if he was ready to kill anyone, that’s because the painting has sentimental value to the boss.” Sendak folds his arms. “He and Alfor were friends. They grew up together in Naples, you know, him and a bunch of other kids. But… nowadays, the boss is the only one left.” He makes a sad smile, who looks out of place on his face. “So when an opportunity came up to acquire something made by Alfor, the boss took it.”

Shiro doesn’t believe a word of Sendak is feeding him aside from the born in Naples part, which was already public record. He’s sure there’s something more to this story, and otherwise Zarkon wouldn’t be going through all the trouble to protect the Red Lion. Still, Sendak gave him some interesting information, especially when it came to a connection between Alfor and Zarkon, which before he hadn’t known about-that Shiro is going to check on later, just to be sure.

“Well, it’s my turn now,” Sendak smirks. “So… do you think Red will try to infiltrate the party to steal the boss’ favorite painting?”

Shiro widens his eyes. “That’s it. That’s the reason you invited me here.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t be that shocked.”

“I’m not. I just didn’t expect you to be so brazen with your intentions.” His eyes scan the room looking for the people in the ballet room, all dressed up with their costumes and masks and therefore unrecognizable. “Do you really think Red will come?” ~~~~

“He’s still alive, isn’t it?” Sendak replies, with a meaningful look. “Unless you did something we don’t know about, but I doubt it.”

“There’s been no sign of him lately… so…” Shiro’s voice trails off. He knows Red is still around, despite the lack of activity. Given all that had been done to get the previous three parts of the Castle of Lions, he doubts that the thief stopped because he abandoned his objective of getting a fourth. “I guess we’ll see what happens.”

“Well then, let’s make a deal,” Sendak says. “If you catch our little erstwhile burglar first, he’s all yours to do what you will with him, no questions asked. Otherwise…” he shrugs. “Well, on an unrelated topic, I know the boss is keen on fixing this place up now that he’s returned to live here. You know, do a little spring cleaning to get rid of all the vermin that’s been infesting the place recently.” At this, Sendak leans in, voice low. “Get what I’m saying, Takashi?”

“...Right.” Shiro downs the rest of his glass as the implication sinks in. “Message received.”

“Good. Glad to see you’re still as amenable and understanding as ever!” With a mock toast to him, Sendak then turns to leave. “I’ll just be on my way then. Enjoy the party, Inspector.”

Once Sendak is out of sight, Shiro allows himself to shudder. There’s no doubt in his mind what Sendak intends to do if he catches Red first, and he doesn’t believe for a moment that Zarkon won’t try to interfere in some way even if Shiro managed to catch Red first. At least Shiro knows he has a chance to keep his suspect alive long enough to be extradited to a safer city for trial, or get transferred to the custody of the Carabinieri, if he gets to Red before the Galra.

With that in mind, he grabs another glass of wine and soon finds himself near the banquet table. He puts his mask back on, hoping that nobody else noticed his true identity.

After that, he waits. The banquet table is the perfect spot for observing the entire room from a good vantage point; it also gives him the excuse to remain still playing the dumb guy at the party who is only interested in the food. As he watches, and helps himself with _chiacchiera_ , and begins to compile a mental list of every person at the party; thankfully, everyone has a unique mask, which makes it easy to remember who is who.

It’s only natural, then, that his attention gets drawn to one mask in particular.

The guest in question wears a bright red silk dress that is lined with golden lace. The mask they wear is also a porcelain volto, with crimson red lips and eyeholes shadowed with gold. It has a single long feather plume on the right corner that curls upwards from a clutch of pearls, and other, smaller red and gold feathers that flare out brilliantly from every other side against the parts of the mask that are white, which serve to enhance the mane-like curls of the guest’s red-and-gold wig. The bottom of the ensemble is a mermaid dress that flares at the knees, revealing hidden gold accents within the folds.

The bodice, meanwhile, is lined with gold accents, and a corsage of red and yellow roses hang like a sash over their left shoulder, falling down diagonally to their right hip. Long red sleeves cover their upper arms, flaring and flouncing out at the elbow with frilly, intricate golden lace engage antes; golden gloves clothe the forearms and hands to complete the look.

The figure looks feminine, and their movement is graceful and elegant, then again, this is Carnevale; the person beneath the mask could be anyone. They are, however, the only person in the room wearing red in much of a capacity.

Red, as in Red the Thief.

It’s a coincidence too good to be true.

However, this newcomer’s arrival and subsequent behavior is the very definition of suspicious. Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro sees Zarkon-the only one not wearing a mask-entering the room, and nearly everyone makes their way over to speak to him.

The Red Guest, however, doesn’t go near the crowd; they don’t even bother trying to pretend they are hungry, and avoid the banquet table entirely. Instead, they practically tiptoe to a corner right next to a nondescript door, one that Shiro knows, from his experience undercover, is right next to a staircase that leads to the palazzo’s upper floors. Then, they stay there, their hands folded, their posture stiff and awkward.

There’s no way Shiro can’t investigate this mystery person, especially when it’s only a matter of time before others notice the strange, impossible-to-miss presence. So, once Zarkon makes a brief speech of welcome, orders the string quartet and singers he’s procured to begin taking requests, and then at last excuses himself, Sendak, and a group of masked men from the ballroom, he acts.

Shiro doesn’t bother with any subtlety and goes directly to the Red Guest.

“Would you concede me a dance?” he asks, with a small bow and a proffered.

The Red Guest startles at the forwardness. They look around, then behind Shiro’s shoulder, as if they’re checking some way of escape. Then they stared at the hand, before they finally tilt their head a little, a sign of acquiescence accepting Shiro’s hand with their own.

With a little bit of flourish, Shiro guides them to the center of the ballroom, where people are already moving to give space for the dancers, and to Shiro’s relief, he and the Red Guest aren’t the only pair on the floor. The music that is struck up is a Carnevale classic, a [Monteverdi aria](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtxXMhAQHaw) of two voices declaring their eternal love for one another, just as everyone takes a hold of their partner and begins to sway.

It’s been a while since Shiro has danced anywhere, since he’s used to just watching Carnevale from either his apartment or mingling out of costume among the revelers while on the beat; still, he knows the song, and it’s not a complicated dance, so he manages to catch on quickly. Red, meanwhile, also seems to be a good dancer too, and they follow Shiro’s guide by holding one hand to Shiro’s side, and the other hand clasping Shiro’s. Their mask and dress seem to sparkle like stars beneath the light of the ballroom chandelier.

“Your dress is beautiful,” Shiro murmurs, as the dance requires more vicinity between the two of them. Red just answers with a nod of their head.

Shiro places his hand around their waist and pulls them close one more, as their hands are still intertwined. The Red Guest tilts their head on one side and places their free hand on Shiro’s shoulder, their skirt twirling as they move.

“I wonder. Are you friends with Zarkon?” Shiro asks again. “Or is this your first time meeting him?”

Still no answer from Red, who just presses their pointer finger a little more tightly onto Shiro’s shoulder.

“The quiet and mysterious type. I like it.”

It’s a strange, but dancing with this stranger gives Shiro a sense of peace. For a long time since his failed undercover sting, Shiro had avoided this kind of physical contact, but recently, he’d felt himself loosen up towards the prospect. More than that, being with this mystery individual felt natural, like his body already knows who the other person is.

 _This must be_ _Red_ , Shiro rationalizes _._ _I_ _had been upon him, got a good feel of his back, when I almost caught him stealing the Monet. The form is similar… too similar…_

When the aria finishes, they both remain still at the center of the room. Shiro barely registers the clapping around him and the other dancers, as he continues to hold Red. He badly wants to take off that mask, but he realizes that even if he does, he’s never seen Red’s face, so it would be futile to arrest them without having confirmation of the Red Guest’s identity.

It’s Red who breaks the embrace. They still don’t talk, and instead excuse themselves with a small curtsey. Then, they rush back to the side of the room where the doorway stands, and other guests that try to ask them for another dance are met with refusal as they shake their heads at each subsequent request. After several attempts are rebuffed, Shiro follows them with his eyes as they reach for the traveling servant, grabbing a glass of wine.

They don’t drink it. Instead, as Shiro moves aside towards the now-unguarded side door, he finds that, while other people finally convince Red to sit down with them near the windows, they still don’t talk. More people are taking paying attention to them, to the point where it’s impossible for even the most disinterested guest to not take notice.

There lay the big problem with Shiro’s belief that the figure in the red dress is his suspect. Everything about them is too bright, too noticeable. Everything around the Red Guest is suspicious, giving that they don’t talk and try to stay outside the attention – clearly failing. There’s no way that Red the Thief would be so obvious, so stupid, as to attend a party organized by the very people that already tried to kill him once before, wearing such attire so as to attract the attention of every person in the vicinity.

However, Shiro knows as well that creating this kind of furor is exactly the strategy Red typically uses in his heists. He sends warning letters about his theft, so he can take advantage of the confusion that results from everyone’s reaction. Hell, his main plan is based on putting emphasis on stealing something less important even as he prepares to strike at his true targets while no one is looking. This entire spectacle is just like all of Red’s previous schemes, which can only lead to one conclusion.

Red the Thief can’t be the Red Guest he just danced with. They’re either an accomplice or someone that has been paid to enter the party unawares. Either way, they’re a distraction. A distraction for Zarkon, who has put his guards around the entrance and the main stairs and all the obvious places where intruders might enter. But the majority of them would be on the lower floors, leaving the upper floors of the palazzo to the mercy of a high-tech security system.

While something like that might deter lesser burglars, Red has bypassed systems of equal or better quality before; he’d even managed to turn off the alarms at the Vatican Museums with no one realizing it for five minutes, and they had some of the tightest anti-theft measures in the world.

Shiro can’t stay, that much is for certain. As he starts to edge more fully to the side door, he watches as the Red Guest keeps sending increasingly frantic glances towards him. Then the string quartet strikes up [Paganini](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f4UILyoOC58), and despite them shaking their head repeatedly and trying to get away, the crowd overtakes and drowns the now-flailing Red Guest beneath a sea of eager dance partners, pulling them back onto the floor.

No one is looking at him, and Shiro bolts out of the ballroom. Immediately he is met by a small group of hired men who move to stop him from ascending the staircase. A quick flash of his badge, hidden beneath his cloak, causes them to stiffly stand aside, allowing him to bound up the stairs. He has no doubt someone will tip either Sendak or Zarkon about his movements, but his hope is that they will stay off his back at present; after all, he can easily claim that he was invited to stop Red, and that’s all he’s doing.

At the top of the stairs, Shiro sees a light on in one of the rooms. He can hear Sendak’s growling voice speaking in low tones, and as he passes by the room he can see another group of men sitting down around a desk, listening intently. He continues onwards, unseen and unheard.

Having been a guest at the palazzo often enough, Shiro has a good idea of where the painting might be. There is a little studiolo at the end of the hall, with a windowed view of the Canal Grande, where Zarkon would invite his most trusted lieutenants to a few rounds of scotch and scopa.

At that time, Zarkon had already purchased the Red Lion yet Shiro couldn’t recall having seen it before. Likely, he hadn’t paid much attention to it, given how he was too busy trying to pretend he enjoyed drinking scotch so he wouldn’t be shot for offending Zarkon’s tastes.

Despite the hole in his memory, he sees it the moment he entered the tiny room, pulling his mask and wig off as he inspects the area. It’s hung on the opposite side of the window, just above the mantel of the empty, rarely used fireplace. It’s small and unassuming, around 20cm x40cm, and it shows a red lion with a flaming yellow mane, sitting down under a rock overhang, as a volcano explodes behind it and flames erupt in the sky.

The colors are vivid and the brushwork smooth, but overall the subject is boring and, in Shiro’s very subjective opinion, nowhere near as good or as appealing as Alfor Altea’s other, more celebrated works. Nor can he see anything that might suggest a hidden meaning, no clue or hint or anything resembling a reason to steal or kill over it.

It is almost disappointing.

If he was curious before, Shiro is now dying to understand why Red gives so much importance to the Castle of Lions quintet. From Zarkon’s point of view, it’s true that he had his own skewed sense of honor, and to steal from him could be considered a grave insult. Perhaps Sendak was even telling the truth about the relationship between Zarkon and the artist. Yet there has to be more. There’s always more. If he can figure out the why of all of this, then-

A thumping sound from behind pulls him out his thoughts. He whips around, but the room is still empty, the window still closed. He frowns, nevertheless; he first looks over at the camera nestled in the darkest corner of the room, then moves to open the window. The alarm doesn’t sound; he does, however, see a rope swinging right next to his head, right next to the frame. Immediately, he sticks his head out and looks down.

There is a figure in a black catsuit is trying to climb back the rope towards a gondola just below. Instantly, Shiro grabs the rope, and they stop, looking up at him through a black ski mask. Then, in a move that is the opposite of grace, they jump off, landing into the boat with an audible thud. Whoever it is, they have nothing of Red’s agility and elegance, nor do they wear anything of Red’s trademark clothing.

But, Shiro realizes with growing horror, the Red Guest is still in the palazzo. And indeed, in a window right below his, he finds his eyes meeting those concealed by the white and golden mask of his suspect. In a second, the head pops back inside.

Shiro acts fast. He jumps over the steps of the stair from three to three, and this time he has no doubt his actions will alert everyone in the vicinity to his presence. At that moment, he doesn’t care, and he rushes towards the room that, if he’s recalling correctly, is a bathroom.

When he slams into the doorframe, he finds that Red hashed his costume. The dress, the gloves, the mask and wig, all are in a messy pile next to the toilet while Red himself is already sitting on the window sill, donning a black wetsuit. His black hair is tied up in a messy bun, a diver’s mask, and a snorkel on his face.

There’s no hesitation; Shiro runs towards him. His hand manages to brush the other’s shoulder, just as Red pushes off and dives into the canal. It's not enough to catch him, and soon Shiro is holding onto nothing but the updraft left by his presence.

With a splash, Red is in the water, and as he turns, the thief’s face looks up, meeting Shiro’s. For the very first time, Red is as good as unmasked, and despite the gear that covers Red’s face, he’s still very recognizable to Shiro.

Especially when he looks into those big, blue eyes that are now looking back widely at Shiro, accompanied by a wide, scared expression on his face. It is only a split-second after that Red’s body sinks into the dark water of the canal with a loud plashdisappearing entirely from sight.

“Keith…”

There is no mistaking Red the Thief’s identity, not anymore, even as time seems to stop and the world crashes around him from the revelation. He barely registers Sendak’s presence at his side, or the way he barks angry orders at his men; he doesn’t see or hear the uproar that comes from behind him in the ballroom as the party is abruptly ended and the guests are forced to leave.

He just stands there, numb and unresponsive even to Sendak shoving him around, wondering how his relationship, something he’d treasured so much, just shattered to pieces, just like the Carnevale mask that falls from his hands and onto the tile floor.


	3. Part 3

When Keith returns to the base, the only thing he wants to do is take a shower and wash away the memory of what had just happened, alongside the dirty canal water that he was completely steeped in during his escape. Instead, he finds himself suffering through Lance’s complaints the moment he arrives back at the villa.

“I told you! I should have been the sexy distraction and Keith should have been the thief!” he starts screaming to no one in particular. “I’m the perfect choice for a party. Keith is the sneaky emo boy that can enter a house through a window without being noticed.”

“You know we had our reasons for the decision we made,” Pidge replies.

“And I totally disagreed and guess what! I was right!”

It had been a majority decision, and ultimately, Keith knows that Pidge and Hunk were right. Lance is great at creating distractions, but when it comes to parties, he tends to get bored very quickly, losing himself to the festivities around him. He becomes loud and funny and charming, and then completely forgets that he’s supposed to be the lookout who is helping Keith complete his job without getting caught. Such a botch had happened before: while Lance is incredibly competent when it came to bringing attention to himself, he’s not so hot when it comes to waiting and observation in such a situation.

Usually, Keith would have bantered back, mainly about how Lance isn’t as sexy as he thinks he is, but he’s in no mood for teasing, and it’s clear Lance isn’t, either. Indeed, none of them are: they failed the mission, and nothing anyone could say will sugarcoat that fact.

For Keith, there’s more, and worse, that has happened.

“How about you just be glad that the Inspector didn’t see your face, huh?” Keith snaps and immediately Lance stops blabbering and bites his lips, eyes wide as saucers. Pidge and Hunk both turn to look at him as well, shock written on their faces. However, before anyone else can speak, Keith stomps towards the bathroom and closed himself inside, slamming the door behind him. Here, under a hot stream of water, he lets his tears fall along with the grime.

He’s heartbroken, that’s for sure.

The look on Shiro’s face… damn. He really didn’t want Shiro to find out like that. In fact, he’d hoped Shiro would never find out. But, deep down, he realizes that he’d always known that their relationship wouldn’t have survived more than a couple of months at most. It had been wonderful, even amazing, but it never could have lasted.

It is disappointing, upsetting, but ultimately it couldn’t be surprising to him. Yet it is, and it hurts. His entire storied time with Shiro had been rotten and fake to the core, just like Venice, with its medieval façade hiding garbage-filled waters and tourist-filled _calli_.

It takes him an hour more before he finally comes out of the bathroom. The others had gathered together in the dining room, where Pidge is on her cadre of computer networks, checking desperately websites and camera around. Probably to be sure there isn’t any chance Shiro can find them, now that he knows Keith is Red the Thief. He sighs.

“Do you have a way to contact Zarkon without being tracked?”

“Of course!” she replies, only to realize what he asked. “What do you have in mind?”

Her tone suggests she suspects she’s not going to like it, and Keith knows she won’t. Yet doesn’t answer. Instead, all eyes are on him as he pulls up one of his art boxes and moves towards the exit of the room. The others hurry to follow him.

“What do you have in mind? Keith??” Hunk repeats Pidge’s question, trotting at his side.

“We can’t wait anymore. It’s only a matter of time before Zarkon figures out who we are,” Keith replies. “We need to take that painting, and we need to do it now. We need to deal directly with Zarkon.”

“He’s not exactly the type you want to deal with,” Pidge points out. “Especially after trying to cross him already!”

“He will have no choice,” Keith replies. “If he wants to get all of the paintings we’ve taken.”

Keith walks into a first-floor room that they once used as storage when they first moved in, with a massive window across from the door. Now, it serves as Keith’s art workshop when he has the time. It is night, and thus the only light in the room is the small chandelier with dim bulbs. Not the best condition to paint but Keith is too mad or worried to care. Time is not on their side. So he places his box on the ground and an empty canvas on his easel.

“You know that Alfor’s paintings can’t be replicated,” Lance says. “Not even by you.”

“It’s doesn’t matter.” Keith goes over to the wall, where one of his paintings hangs. He plucks it off, revealing a large, recessed safe that was hiding behind it. He puts in the combination and opens it up, revealing a custom painting rack fastened inside. “I just need to make a copy that’s convincing enough to fool Zarkon. He clearly knows that we have three of them at this point, so at least we have that leverage over him.”

With that, he takes out one of the paintings: the Blue Lion.

“It’ll never work!” Pidge protests. “Otherwise we would have done it using a copy of the Black Lion! You know, the one Lion in the quintet that no one can find? We developed our plan precisely because we can’t bargain with the guy!”

“And look where it brought us,” Keith shouts back. “We’re wanted criminals and Zarkon still knows about us, so everything was for nothing!”

There’s nothing the others can say, and they can’t respond to him, because it’s true and everyone knows it. They failed, and there’s no sugarcoating it or pretending otherwise. With that, Keith places the Blue Lion on another tripod, right next to the blank canvas.

Lance crosses his arms. “Then, what’s your plan?”

“Zarkon will need the Red Lion on hand to check if my painting is the real thing or not. We will use the time it takes for him to do that, to take the Red Lion from his grasp ~~s~~.”

It’s risky, he knows, and it’s clear that the others think that so, but at the same time they don’t have another proposal, or much of a choice.

“If we’re going to do this,” Pidge sighs, “then we’ll need a very solid plan. One that doesn’t result in any of our deaths. Especially yours, Keith.”

“You can figure it out, I know you can.” Keith turns back towards the blank canvas. “Find somewhere that an exchange can be made, somewhere public enough that I can be ensured of my safety. Hunk, see what you can do about the public security systems in whatever place Pidge decides. Lance, do whatever you have to do to arrange a meet up without outing yourself; I’ll start the painting.”

“Okay, fine.” Hunk takes the brush from Keith’s hand before he can start mixing the primer. “We’ll do what you want, but only if you get some rest.”

“But we can’t let Zarkon-”

“Zarkon isn’t going to find us anytime soon, I can assure you of that. We’ve all had a long night, you especially. Go rest.”

If even Hunk is that adamant about it, Keith has no chance to disagree. They all go to bed, but Keith’s night is tiring and fully of nightmares about Shiro.

***

Shiro wakes up late the next morning; the sun is streaming through his window as he rolls over on his mattress. Even after somehow managing a full night of sleep, he still feels empty and angry inside. His clothing from the night before are a messy pile on the floor, and the broken porcelain mask pops out from his trash can. They are a grim reminder that the Carnevale party had happened, Red the Thief had really been there masquerading as a guest, and worst of all, Shiro really had seen Keith’s face once his suspect had discarded his disguise.

As he groans and rolls over to look at his alarm clock, Shiro notices Keith’s sketchbook on the edge of the nightstand. Fumbling with his prosthetic, he pulls it over to him, opening it up to look at the sketches within. The drawings are nice, beautiful, even, with exquisite detail; Shiro can almost imagine Keith, head bowed down, his pencil flying across the blank pages of paper as he bites his lower lip. His brows are drawn, and his expression is one that belies just how deeply he is concentrating on his work.

There are all of Shiro’s favorite spots. Keith didn’t have to go so hard, in on his little con. He didn’t have to make Shiro fall in love with him, when all he wanted was the information Shiro happened to know about the art heists. The art heists that Keith himself was the perpetrator of. ~~~~

Of course, Shiro realizes as his heart sinks even further.

Almost all of Keith’s offbeat behavior suddenly makes sense under the harsh lens of his new reality. That is why Keith would always insist on talking about Shiro and the Red investigation, as opposed to bringing attention to himself and his past. No wonder why Keith seemed to have so much time to spend with Shiro to go around the city, despite apparently going to college for a Master’s degree. He’d had access to the Carnevale party invitation, and like an idiot Shiro told the guy his life story instead of just locking the invite away where the other couldn’t access it again. Even Keith’s job at Sal’s was likely little more than a cover to keep an eye on him, to make sure he wouldn’t succeed at doing his job after having been so close to catching his quarry multiple times previously.

So that was it. Their relationship had been a lie, a scam, all just another part of Red’s-of Keith’s-grand and carefully organized master plan to hoodwink Zarkon and anyone who stood in his way of grabbing the Castle of Lions. This whole time, Shiro had opened himself up to Keith, when in the end all he’d been doing was taking his weaknesses, gift-wrapping then with a bow, and cheerily handing them all over to the enemy so he could manipulate them as he wished. ~~~~

Shiro’s been so blind, so gay. So stupid. He really should have seen it coming.

He clenches his fists, gritting his teeth. Maybe it makes him a sore loser, but the more he thinks about it, the more enraged he gets. He’s been tricked one too many times, and he won’t stand for it anymore. He doesn’t care that he’s supposed to have the day off, he doubts Keith is taking the day off in his scheming.Keith won’t stop until he’s gotten the Red Lion, and as long as that’s the case, he and whoever else he’s working with won’t leave Venice without it.

Well, Shiro’s going to make sure Keith won’t leave Venice without something, all right. He’d make sure the thief and his accomplices will be under police escort, in handcuffs, with the harshest sentence the law can provide as they are all thrown into the nearest maximum-security prison the country of Italy can provide.

With that, he’s off, jaw clenching in determination and Keith’s notebook in hand. Of course he isn’t at Sal’s (“He quit this morning, without any warning. I didn’t expect it, he seemed more responsible than to throw me under the bus like that. I’m in big trouble now!”), and the cellphone number Shiro has no longer active. At this point, Shiro wouldn’t be surprised if even the name Keith Koh is fake.

He doesn’t greet his colleagues as he sits down at his desk, instead barking orders for Ryan and James to search for any information about a new lead that he received (he doesn’t go into detail as to how he knows, and no one presses him while he’s in such a foul mood) regarding an individual named Keith Koh.

After a quick look over all that he has on Zarkon, based on what he’d been told the previous night by Sendak (which unsurprisingly yields nothing except that he had been born in Naples) he goes back to his primary objective of uncovering whether Keith Koh is real, or just another alias of Red the Thief.

To his surprise, Keith Koh is a name that exists, and seems to correspond to the scant information Keith gave to him. His age and ID information all match, as does the place of birth. The residence is listed in a little town an hour east of Rome, but when Shiro checks the land register he finds out the house is owned by another person.

One quick search later on the INPS database, he finds out Keith has gone through a plethora of jobs, and his very first one was working for an art dealer who was soon revealed to have sold forgeries of [Scapigliatura](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scapigliatura) artists soon after Keith stopped working for him; he was never charged with anything, but given the quality of the sketches he’s seen in Keith’s art book, Shiro has to wonder if Keith might have had something to do with that after all.

After that, there’s a time gap between jobs, but then Keith’s résumé reveals that he traveled frequently in recent times, and-what a coincidence!-the dates and locations where he landed work correspondalmost exactly to the timeframe of Red’s thefts each city. Funnily enough, he’s also listed as a student in various universities in said cities, just like he’s listed in the school registry of Venice’s public university system, even if he never did any exams, never attended any lessons and dropped out after a semester. Shiro suspects that if he calls the current university Keith claimed to attend, he will find the same pattern starting to unfold.

It’s a nice cover; students drop out and transfer schools all the time, and with no criminal record to speak of there’s no reason for the police to even give Keith a second thought with regards to his wandering despite his lack of records. More than that, Keith seems to have been careful enough to not just start stealing the moment he sets foot in any given city.

Indeed, he seems to enroll into a Master’s program like any normal graduate student, and then wait until the semester is either about to start or has gotten underway in order to extend his time in the city; the longer the time he’s present, the less likely the police would connect the thefts to his arrival. Only after some time had passed would the thefts start, and then once they were done, Keith would drop and disappear, only to repeat the cycle in another place. ~~~~

It was a good plan. He’s clever, Shiro will give him. He supposes that he should be flattered that Keith and his cohorts saw him as such a threat that he broke his pattern in order to spy on him. Well, no more of that. The next time Keith pops up anywhere in the system, no matter where in Italy it might be, Shiro will know and it will be all over for Red the Thief.

Unfortunately, as the moments tick by and he sits at his desk triumphantly, he starts to realize there are a few hitches to his game plan. For one thing, aside from his ID’s picture, which is very outdated compared to how Keith looked last he saw him, Shiro doesn’t have any pictures of Keith to put on file, because of course Keith didn’t like having pictures taken of him, so Shiro respected his decision like a moron.

For another thing, he was the only person who saw Keith’s face, which means all Keith would need is a plausible alibi for the Carnevale party. Aside from that, he has nothing else concrete against Keith other than the fact he was in the city at the same time as Red, which can be said for millions of other people, so any competent lawyer could just say that Shiro’s deductions about Keith are all happy coincidences.

Most of all, if he shares his information with anyone outside of Ryan and James, chances are that Zarkon’s friends on the force will find a way to get that information to Zarkon before Shiro can make another move. As much as Shiro hates what Keith did, he realizes he just can’t risk putting Keith in that kind of danger. He’d already done too many things undercover that weigh heavily on his soul; being so petty as to put Keith at the mercy of Zarkon, just to assuage his own ego, would make him no better than the Galra.

With a sigh, he goes back to Ryan and James, hopeful that the three of them together can find Keith before the end of the day. Yet every possible suggestion and search idea that is brought up yields nothing. Keith is like a ghost, with no sign of him on the streets of Venice. Not even following the money works: despite the amount of money it had to take for Keith to continually set up in the different cities he’s hit, his only financial records are paystubs from his legitimate jobs. Everything else seems to have been paid in cash.

“Maybe he already left,” James suggests. “You finding him out could have spooked him.”

“I doubt it.” Shiro shakes his head. “Even if he did leave, he can’t abandon the Red Lion. He and Lance Serrano and whoever else he’s working with have invested too much to do that.”

“We also don’t have any clear link between Serrano and this new guy, and you can’t possibly know that they’re still in town. They could have taken an overnight from Santa Lucia, they could be in Paris by now. Hell, he could have taken a flight halfway around the world if he wanted,” Ryan points out. “The best we can do for now is to try and track down whoever’s been giving your suspect all the money to enroll in the universities and do all of the things he’s managed to pull off, but… we really should contact the T.P.C. about this before we go any further.”

“The moment any of us open our mouths, Keith is dead no matter where he is.” Shiro’s voice hardens. “But in the meantime, we haven’t found any footage of him leaving the city on any of the public transport systems. Not from Santa Lucia or Mestre, not from Marco Polo. I doubt Treviso or Milan will have him leaving either.”

“But boss, what about private means?”

“He hasn’t left. He’s still here. I know it. We just have to keep looking.” At this, Shiro stands up. “I’m going to go check out some places that I… suspect Keith might have visited. Don’t tell anyone about Keith, or that I was here with you guys. Not even Iverson. Got it?”

Once his subordinates finally agree to keep silent, Shiro goes on his not-so-merry way, intending to visit every place Keith drew in his sketchbook. Perhaps Keith inadvertently left a clue in one of his drawings. Maybe there’s a place that sticks out somewhere, or a point of view he chose, which might reveal to Shiro a street or building that Keith might be hiding in. It’s not much, but it’s something he can try.

Instead, however, all he finds is one of Zarkon’s sleek Tyrian purple limousine boats,tailing him on the Canal Grande as soon as he attempts to walk towards the Rialto. When the boat docks, it is Sendak who hops out and proceeds to stalk towards him.

“There you are. Get in,” Sendak growls. There is nothing but danger flashing in his eyes. “The boss has ordered that I escort you to one of his safe houses. For your sake, I suggest you don’t try and resist.”

Looking all around him, Shiro realizes he can’t say no. They’re in a crowded place full of tourists minding their own business, most barely even paying attention to the obvious kidnapping that is now taking place in broad daylight. Yet Shiro is certain, judging from Sendak’s murderous expression, that the underboss won’t hesitate to take it out on innocent bystanders if Shiro refuses to comply. That Zarkon would even send him out to find Shiro is a very bad sign to begin with.

So Shiro nods and boards the limo right after Sendak. The Galra doesn’t even give the other time to sit before he’s cranking the speed up and shooting out the dock and down the Canal Grande like a torpedo. The sudden and violent jolt causes Shiro to nearly fall face-first into the water; to his horror, even though he regains his balance, Keith’s sketchbook unceremoniously flies out of his hands.

“No-!” 

He can only watch, slumping into the plush seat beneath him, as the book falls into the water with a plop. Within seconds, it is sinking beneath the waves, disappearing entirely in the foggy water as Shiro finds himself hooded and stolen away to parts unknown.

***

Despite it being the middle of the workweek, and despite Carnevale having already ended, Piazza San Marco is full of tourists. Nobody pays attention to Keith as he crosses the square towards the basilica, the false Blue Lion safe under his sweatshirt. The weather is cloudy, which gives him the perfect excuse to keep his hood up his head. Which is probably for the best, since the only thing he’s wearing to conceal his identity is a bad blonde wig.

Despite the fact that Pidge kept teasing him over his terrible disguise, which she said wouldn’t fool a blind person, it seems to do the trick. The police that is dotted around the square don’t even give him a second glance, which he must admit is a relief. Likewise, there is no sign of Shiro around, which surprises Keith.

He’d been certain the entire force would be on the lookout for him, with everyone knowing what he looks like. Maybe he hasn’t sounded the alarm yet-or maybe a small, stupid part of him hopes Shiro refrained for other reasons. Maybe… maybe…

No. Stick to the plan. ~~~~

He doesn’t know who will be meeting him for the exchange, so he will have to be prepared for anything. He will also need to figure out how to play off his reasons for trying to steal the Red Lion to Zarkon’s contact when they do finally show themselves. Considering the overall record of his jobs, perhaps the best way to present himself and his friends would be as a bunch of greedy, if naïve, thieves who are looking to earn a boatload of money from selling their mostly-priceless load on the black market.

He knows that it’s a weak excuse, given how hard they tried to steal Zarkon’s Red Lion, which is not exactly a highly-valued work to begin with. Hell, they can sell a single painting-the [Parmigianino](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madonna_with_the_Long_Neck) they stole in Florence, as an example-for the cost of a small country’s GDP, while even the completed Castle of Lions is, monetarily, barely worth the material it was painted on in comparison.

Unfortunately, it’s the best that Keith has to work with, and he hopes that this meeting will convince Zarkon they aren’t aware of the real value of the Red Lion, or of having the Castle of Lions as a whole.

Needless to say, as he is about to pass through the great portal of Venice’s cathedral, Keith is a bundle of nerves. He’s glad he didn’t ask someone to come with him for back up, and he knows Hunk and Pidge are spying the meeting from afar, but he would need someone at his side right now.

“I’m going in,” he mutters under his breath, fully aware that Pidge and the others are listening in via his cell phone.

Once at the door, Keith carefully pulls off his hood. He pays the entrance fee, through the metal detector without incident, and finally finds himself in the narthex of the Byzantium behemoth. The Basilica di San Marco is suffocating and claustrophobic, not to mention stifling, thanks to all the tourists milling around, yet at the same time Keith cannot help but admire its medieval magnificence.

Through the Arches of Paradise and Apocalypse he goes, looking upwards towards the mosaics adorned with gold, depicting the Pentateuch, the Pentecost and the Passion, before walking under the largest dome and its massive depiction of the Ascension, which seems to make Jesus shimmer with golden light as the sun reflects off the surface.

On the far end near the nave, he can see the high altar and the Pala d’Oro, enameled in gold and glass. It is an art historian’s dream, and while he wants to just hate the cathedral, he finds he can’t. Indeed, in any other situation Keith might have stayed, taken out a sketchbook and drawn studies and sketches for hours on end.

Instead, he mills around, pretending to be part of a tour group as it passes by the reliquary, St. James’ altar, before finally walking beneath two columns where the group stops to observe the cupola of St. Leonard. That is when he sneaks away towards a small wooden door, which the tour guide doesn’t even point out as the group makes its way towards the church’s treasury rooms. ~~~~

Keith sees that the door isn’t locked, which means his contact has already arrived before him. After he checks to make sure there’s no one looking over at him, he quickly flings the door open, rushes in, and then closes the door as quickly and quietly as he can. He waits to make sure no one bursts in to ask him what he’s doing before he proceeds down the passage and up the set of stone stairs that leads to the[Palazzo Ducale](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doge%27s_Palace). ~~~~

After what feels like an eternity of walking upwards in dim darkness, he’s hit with the light of the sun, and soon after, and Keith emerges from the dark stairway and into the open-aired loggia of the palazzo, the piazza of San Marco down below him. He creeps as close to the wall as possible, in the hope that no one in the square will look up and spot him.

He expects he’ll be meeting some no-name middle man to ensure Zarkon’s hands are kept clean. Thus the breath is knocked out of him when he realizes that it’s Zarkon himself who is there, waiting for him. He is looking down into the square, standing quietly between two columns that are noticeably pinker than the others lining the loggia. One hand is stroking the column to his right while his left is in the pocket of his long purple frock coat; the coattails seem to sway ominously in the wind.

Gritting his teeth, Keith slowly the painting from beneath his sweatshirt and crooks it under his arm, his sneakers scraping against the stone floor as he walks closer to the man at the top himself.

“…I wonder if you know the importance of these two columns here?” Zarkon speaks suddenly, his hand still caressing the right pink column. While he still hasn’t acknowledged Keith’s presence or looked in his direction, it’s clear he’s expecting an answer.

“They’re the fatal pillars,” he finally manages. “The Palazzo Ducale superseded what older Venetians had called the Palace of Justice when it was renovated. When the redesign was complete, they erected two pillars using blood-red marble from Verona.”

Citing these facts, which Shiro, funnily enough, had imparted to him, helps to calm Keith down, at least a little.

“The Doge would appear between these two columns during public celebrations, but he was also known to appear between the fatal pillars in order to publicly proclaim death sentences on criminals, which were normally carried out between the pillars of St. Mark and St. Theodore-the Pillars of Justice.”

Zarkon finally turns his head to look at Keith, who abruptly stops walking when the Galra does so.

“…Nobles who committed crimes, and traitors to the government, were also executed where you stand.” Keith swallows as he finishes. “Then their bodies were strung up over the square, where they would hang long after death, in order that the people could see the Doge’s justice being done.”

“Well done.” Zarkon’s head tilts a little to the right, and his eyes narrow as if angered. At the same time, there is a creepy smirk on his face, and his tone is courteous enough as he speaks again, “You know something of the history of my personal favorite city. Most fools who come here are day-trippers from cruise ships that don’t afford it the respect it deserves.”

“Of course I know the history of it,” Keith murmurs. “I also know you see yourself as akin to a modern-day Doge, someone who thinks he rules the place and can decide life and death as he sees fit.”

“Well, well, indeed! No one has made such a comparison to me before, but now that you have, I must say that I am flattered by it. It does seem quite apt.”

At this, Zarkon folds his hands behind his back, chest puffing out just a little. Not that he needed to do that, as he is tall and physically imposing enough as he is, more so than anyone Keith has ever met.

“Especially in light of where we are standing. I do enjoy coming up here to watch the people down below, when I have the time. Watching, and imagining what it would be like to live here, at the peak of power, at the height of Venice’s glory as The Most Serene Republic. To reward my allies with the greatest treasures…” His hands clench. “And to set loose upon my enemies the most potent of punishments.”

“That’s… nice?” Keith frowns. “So, what, are going to order me to try and walk around the fourth column, like the condemned who wished to be spared death back in the day would do,” and as he speaks he motions his head towards a nearby white column, one that is slightly off-set from the rest of the colonnade and its base is noticeably eroded, “with the hope that I’ll break my neck in the attempt? Personally, I sure would hate to die an infinitely stupid death like that.”

“I would thank you to not mistake my compliment for permission to be impertinent with me,” Zarkon’s voice sharpens, ever so slightly, immediately silencing Keith. After a moment, the more pleasant tone returns. “…As amusing as the prospect would be to see such a thing, that’s not why I’m here, and we both know it. Besides, I doubt completing such a feat would be impossible for the likes of Red the Thief. If you are Red, of course.”

“I am.”

“Prove it. Show me the painting.”

Keith carefully unwraps the painting from the carton it’s protected in, flipping it over for Zarkon to see. He doesn’t move as he watches Zarkon stare at the painting with a feral, almost desperate hunger.

“Give it to me.”

“The money, first.”

“You surely must know that I need to check that it’s not a fake.”

“Given your history of laundering, I can say the same,” Keith replies. “Show me you have the money first, and then you can call in your expert to check the painting.”

“…If that’s how you wish it to be, very well.” Zarkon nods a little. “One moment, Red. There’s something else I wish to give you.”

While he wasn’t expecting Zarkon to just dump a suitcase full of euros on him, he had figured that Zarkon had a way to smuggle the money into the palazzo, be it by bribe or some other hidden method of transport. ~~~~

When Zarkon is going for the inner pocket of his coat, Keith fears that he’s managed to bring in a gun through the metal detectors of the cathedral. Then again, it needn’t be a metal gun-3D printed guns made of plastic are a thing, and the single, untraceable shot they generally come with is all it will take to kill him right here and now.

But Zarkon pulls his hand out to reveal a cell phone. He presses the screen for a second before flipping it in Keith’s direction. They’re still a few meters apart, forcing Keith to squint in order to see what Zarkon wants to show him.

It’s a live stream of Shiro, wearing his Inspector’s uniform, sitting on the floor in the corner of an empty, windowless room. The feed is dark, but Keith recognizes the stone walls medieval building foundations. Shiro’s expression is serious, if not borderline irritated, and he looks straight in the camera, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. He looks uninjured, though his suit is a bit ruffled and dirty.

If Keith had truly been the wily criminal mastermind that people kept making him out to be, he would have bluffed. He would have been able to hide his surprise and discomfort beneath a mask of cold indifference and maybe, get away with seeming to not care.

Instead, the situation hits him like a train, and he cannot help the angry gasp that comes from his mouth, or the widening of his eyes as he processes what he is seeing. His grip tightens on the borders of the painting, and as he looks up, he knows from Zarkon’s satisfied smile that he’s the one that’s been had this time. He can only let out an ineffectual growl in response.

“This is a violation of our agreement, Zarkon!”

“Maybe it is, but your obstinacy has forced my hand.”

“This is supposed to be between you and me!” Keith complains, shaking his head. “Shi—Inspector Shirogane has nothing to do with this!”

“That would be true, if you hadn’t been the one who got him involved in your little scheme,” Zarkon points to him, “so perhaps you should have considered the consequences of your actions before you decide to cross me.”

Keith can only bite his lip at the condemnation. Zarkon is right, and it is the worst thing about this sudden change in the situation he now faces.

“What do you want, Galra?”

“My goodness, perhaps I overestimated your intelligence.” At this, Zarkon’s tone and expression finally harden. “I want the Castle of Lions, of course. All the parts of it that you possess, and if by happy chance you should happen to know where the Black Lion is, you will give me its current location as well. All those things, and no less, in exchange for the return of Inspector Shirogane, alive and unharmed. I suggest you accept my offer before I change my mind on the unharmed part, by the way. It would be a pity if the inspector should happen to unexpectedly and accidentally lose his other arm.”

“…Fine,” Keith spats, between his gritted teeth. “Deal.”

“Excellent. I shall expect them all tonight in the nave of [Le Zitelle](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Zitelle).” He puts back the cell phone in the pocket. “I think you know the way out.”

Keith doesn’t wait: he turns and the runs back towards the stairs, trying to shove the painting back up his hoodie.

“And Red,” Zarkon calls to him as he flees, “be sure to bring me the real deal next time.”

Keith doesn’t stop when challenged. He is certain Zarkon couldn’t know that he does, in fact, carry a forgery. He’d kept enough of a distance to prevent Zarkon from spotting any tells he might have known about; besides, without any part of the original quintet on hand, there’s no way to truly confirm what Keith had actually tried to pawn off. Still, Keith shivers as he bounds down the stairs and out of the palazzo, nearly running into a group of people as he bolts out of the Basilica di San Marco.

As he runs out of the square, behind the Pillars of Justice, and down the Riva Degli Schiavoni, he keeps looking behind him in fear that someone might be following him. He throws his hood back on and jumps onto the next water taxi he can find, hiding in the furthest corner as the taxi drove around the Venetian lagoon. He rides around on the boat for two hours, and only when he’s absolutely sure no one followed him, he changes boats and disembarks at Torcello.

The others are visibly relieved to see him back in one piece once he arrives at the villa, but he doesn’t spare them an explanation or even a greeting. He just shoves the painting into Hunk’s arms as he grabs three more canvases and stomps into his makeshift art studio. The others follow him, and Keith can feel them watching as he starts to prime them all.

“So… what happened?” Hunk finally dares to ask. “Once you got in the Basilica, we lost your signal.”

“And then you wandered around for all Venice,” Pidge adds. “I barely managed to follow your trail with the security camera around.”

“Zarkon’s got Shiro,” Keith answers drily. “He wants all our paintings and the location of the Black Liontonight, and if I don’t produce them Shiro’s dead. And no, Pidge, you don’t have to tell me I was stupid to not have anticipated that beforehand, I already know.”

“Wait, what?” Pidge gasped. “Hold on, Keith, are you doing what I think you’re doing? You can’t just-”

“I am doing it and don’t try and stop me. If that bastard wants all the paintings, he’ll get all the paintings.” Keith checks his watch. “It’s six right now, and I have to be at Le Zitelle at one. I’ll have time to finish these and get there on time if I leave here at ten.”

“You want to make three more forgeries of Alfor’s paintings in less than four hours!? No way, man!” Lance comments. “Not even you can do something like that! [Van Meegeren](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Han_van_Meegeren) himself couldn’t make three Vermeers in four hours, much less one Vermeer!”

“Whatever, I don’t need them to be [Tetro](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tony_Tetro)-levels of perfection. I just need them to look accurate enough to gain the time to rescue Shiro. I can…” his voice drains off a little. “I have a way to force Zarkon to check the Blue Lion forgery first. That should be enough. It has to be enough.”

“Even if you can finish them all, they won’t have time to dry properly,” Hunk points out. “I think Zarkon will see that.”

“Then we find a way to dry them faster!” Keith wheels around and finally blows with anger, only to immediately regret the outburst. He rubs his eyes with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m sorry…”

“Dude, it’s ok.” Lance goes to pat him on his shoulder. “This is super-stressful. We’re all under pressure.”

“Ok, I really don’t want to be the one to say this,” Pidge interjects. “But someone’s got to address the elephant in the room. Are we absolutely, positively sure Inspector Shirogane isn’t working with Zarkon? We know he worked in Zarkon’s organization as an undercover agent and how do we not know that the Galra didn’t flip him to their side and that’s why Zarkon’s still on the streets? Seriously, he got a personal invite to a party that was barely a week ago.”

“I have to agree with Pidge. It is a little bit suspicious,” Hunk shrugs. “How else could Zarkon find about your connection to Inspector Shirogane? Maybe Shirogane told him about you. They could have been collaborating the entire time. You know, Zarkon gets the Castle of Lions, while he gets the promotion and prestige that comes with catching the elusive Red the Thief.”

Keith bites his bottom lip. He can’t explain, but deep down inside he knows Shiro would never do that. Even if it meant catching Keith, Shiro wouldn’t ally himself with the man who ruined his life.

“Plus,” Pidge adds, “you don’t owe the guy shit just because you dated him for a bit. You don’t have to pretend you like him anymore, we all know it was fake. He knows it as well and he’ll arrest you the second you give him the chance.”

“I agree with Keith.” Before Keith has any chance to reply, Lance intervenes, without a snarky remark in sight. “I mean… really? We’re going to just leave someone at the mercy of a killer, because we suspect he might have ratted Keith out? That’s literally the kind of paranoid logic Zarkon uses!”

“Lance…”

“Hunk, the whole reason we agreed to do this was to prevent Zarkon from getting away with more than he already has.” Lance motions to Pidge and Hunk both. “We’ve done a lot of damage all over the place to try and accomplish that, but there are lines we just shouldn’t cross, and risking innocent lives is one of them for me. I don’t know about you two, but we don’t have any proof that Shirogane is a made man, which means if we don’t help him, we could be putting an innocent man into the meat grinder.”

“…Please say you mean that last part figuratively, Lance.” Hunk’s face begins to turn green. “I was going to make hamburgers for dinner.”

“Ok, fine, you don’t want Shirogane to get killed, but that’s assuming he’s really in danger,” Pidge looks less certain even as she responds. “And we don’t have a whole lot of time left to figure that out.”

“Then…we use the time we have left to assume Shiro is in danger and act accordingly.” Keith takes a deep breath. “Okay. Pidge, I want you to investigate Le Zitelle and every nook and cranny within. Hunk, Lance, I’ll trust you to make something that can guarantee I can escape with Shiro; if you can also figure out how to dry paintings less than four hours, that will also be super helpful. And me… I’ll paint.”

***

It feels like Shiro has been trapped for eternity. There are only so many times one can pace around and grumble about being imprisoned before they get bored, and Shiro is absolutely, positively bored as he sits in the corner, glaring at the camera keeping tabs on him.

Neither Sendak nor any of the men who had confiscated his phone and tossed him in here had given him any explanation for his sudden abduction, but they didn’t need to. It’s been more than clear since the moment Shiro stepped into the limousine boat that his predicament is related to Keith and his damned inexplicable obsession with the Castle of Lions.

The only thing that surprises him is Zarkon’s assumption that he can use Shiro as leverage against Keith; considering how Zarkon is a master at manipulating and using people, he should have figured out that, lack of murders aside, Red the Thief is not so different from him.

With a sigh, he resigns himself to once more looking around his small stone cell. The walls are old and smell faintly of mold-it’s clear this place is centuries old-and he is locked in thanks to a heavy modern steel door. The single light bulb that shines above him generates enough heat to force Shiro to take his jacket off, as the air becomes more solid with time.

There are no windows or openings to help circulate fresh air, but more than that the lack of an outside view means Shiro has no way of knowing where he is or how much time has passed since his confinement. All he knows is that he’s sweaty and he’s bored.

As if to pipe up with its opinion, his stomach starts to grumble. Oh yeah: he’s hungry as well. He hadn’t eaten since he went to question Sal, and no one has brought him anything to eat or drink. That serves to make him sulk more as he closes his eyes, leaning his head against the back of his cell. As he does so, he starts to wonder how long Zarkon will deign to keep him confined like this; any longer than a day and people will start to notice he’s gone. Ryan and James at the very least must be looking for him, or so he hoped, given he hasn’t contacted them even though they surely must have expected him to check in.

Surely that is the case. Right? Otherwise he will have to rely on whatever good graces are left in Zarkon to give, which he is not looking forward to.

It’s another eternity before his cell door finally opens, and Sendak steps in. Shiro is almost grateful for the change of pace and the blast of fresh air that accompanies him. Still, he fixes an unimpressed glare on the underboss and at the handcuffs he carries with him.

“Don’t look at me like that, Shirogane,” Sendak scoffs. “You know the boss would have preferred to do things another way, but you just had to get more involved with Red than you really should have.”

“What, I can’t be annoyed that you didn’t bother to feed me? Or is starvation how you intend to kill me after all this is finished?”

Despite the sarcasm, there’s little bite, and he’s practically docile as he allows Sendak to cuff him, pull him off the ground and lead him out. The cool breeze in the tunnel is a welcome sensation on his brow.

“…How did you know?”

“You should already know our people are everywhere, and that your precious municipal police department is no exception to that.” He throws Shiro a bemused look as they walk. “Personally, I’m just disappointed you ended up tangling with a second-rate thief.”

Shiro doesn’t reply. As much as he doesn’t see Red as a second-rate thief, he’s hardly in the mood to defend him after his tricks. He wonders why Sendak seems so certain Keith will come for him.

After they exit the long stone hallway, they enter what looks to be an old, large room of stone forgotten by the ages, one Shiro doesn’t recognize and which doesn’t look like the churches he was familiar with. It is also almost entirely bare save for what he thinks is an old stone altar on a platform of two stone steps; the bulk of the sparse electric light that is down there is from battery-powered electric lanterns scattered throughout.

Zarkon is present, along with a dozen men. Both the boss and another man standing in front of the stone altar, where the Red Lion sits in a small easel, beneath a single, bright ultraviolet lamp. It is as if the altar of unknown provenance, which also doubles as the brightest point in the room, still retains its air of sanctity so long as the painting is affixed.

Then Shiro sees Keith next to the altar, his eyes illuminated by the light, and his heart can’t help skipping a beat. He wears a black jacket with a blue collar, and a pair of what look to be unusually thick sunglasses hang from his breast pocket. Sexy, Shiro thinks, biting his lips in regret and guilt at thinking such a thing. Keith’s squeezing a sizable package to his chest; judging by the size and dimensions, Shiro can guess that it contains the rest of the Castle of Lions.

So he _did_ come. Keith actually came for Shiro. It makes no sense.

Keith shoots him a relieved look, before back towards Zarkon, fire in his eyes.

“As you can see, he’s here, as I promised, alive and unharmed,” Zarkon gestures towards Shiro, as Sendak pushes him forward towards the altar. “Now, the paintings, if you please.”

After a moment, Keith loosens the package from his arms. At this, Zarkon snaps, and the man next to him stands at attention.

“Macidus, please.”

Macidus, as in Macidus du Bois. Shiro has seen his name pop up every so often in the case.

He seemed to be the go-to art expert when certain media outlets needed to interview someone about works of art that Red had stolen. Perhaps Shiro shouldn’t be shocked when he turns out to be connected to Zarkon as well. A lot of things in his life have been repeating that pattern as of late, he muses sourly.

Macidus, meanwhile, moves until he’s in front of Keith; Keith holds the package horizontally, left hand on the bottom and right hand on top. Then, suddenly, Keith seems to realize something, and he flips the package upside down, so that the right hand is holding it up from the top, and vice versa.

“Sorry.” Keith lets the expert take his bundle after that. “I had it upside down. Bit nervous.”

“…Idiot.” Macidus frowns as he carefully keeps the wrapped parcel right side up. “I can’t believe you gave could be any kind of trouble with that kind of incompetence. If any part of this painting is scratched-”

“It doesn’t matter.” Zarkon’s voice sharpens with annoyance. “As long as the majority of the underpainting is reasonably intact, it will suffice for my purposes. Now, if you would please, Macidus. We don’t have all night.”

After shooting a glare at Keith, Macidus turns to the package, popping the top off the reveal it to be a painting carton, each slot containing a painting. Deftly he slides out the first painting as Keith watches him, eyes narrowed. Zarkon, too, watches, his eyes widening ever so slightly at the sight.

“That…” Sendak breathes as he sees the painting in full, “…is very blue.”

Shiro can’t deny that.

He also can’t deny, as he manages to peek past Sendak’s shoulder, that the Blue Lion is just as underwhelming as Red Lion. It depicts a lioness, glistening with water and half-emerged from a massive lake, its head showing the illusion of motion. It seems to be in the process of drying themselves, as small spouts of water spray out from its fur. In the distance, a storm cloud drops rain on an unseen landscape behind the subject’s body.

Once more, it’s hardly anything fantastic, and there’s nothing at first sight to connect it to the Red Lion, as it is carefully moved off the easel to accommodate the Blue Lion. Taking what looks like a Polaroid camera with a large infrared lens fastened to it out of his satchel, along with a magnifying lens, Macidus begins to ready his study, mumbling under his breath.

It is then that a hissing sound begins to emanate through the air. At first, Macidus ignores it as he leans in with his lens, but soon enough, it becomes too loud to ignore. At that moment, several things happen. Zarkon brings his hand to his inside jacket pocket, as does Sendak. Macidus lifts the painting up to check, only to jump back when white smoke starts pouring out from behind its frame.

“Why you little-”

Before Zarkon can get his weapon out, before anyone can react further, both the Blue Lion, and the carton containing the remaining three paintings, suddenly bursts apart with white smoke and splinters, plunging the chapel into a thick, dark, stifling fog. Immediately, Shiro’s eyes tear up as everything around him falls into chaos and mist. He can feel Sendak move away from him, ostensibly to protect Zarkon from whatever is now attacking them. He, meanwhile, can only step back, coughing hard; it feels like tear gas, but not as potent.

That’s when he sees a light, and an arm that yanks him forward.

Ah, so this is the reason for the glasses, Shiro realizes as Keith pulls him along, cutting through the darkness like butter. They are goggles, and within seconds he’s slipped into a different hallway, Shiro in tow. Immediately after Keith closes the door behind them with a clang, he grabs a lock that had already been attached to the doorframe and fastens it shut.

“Turn around,” Keith orders, and Shiro obeys. Seconds later he feels the handcuffs pull as Keith works on them, before they loosen and clatter to the floor. “We don’t have much time. The effect of bombs won’t last long.”

“Bombs?!”

“Smoke bombs,” Keith quickly amends. “It’s a carnival trick. It’s mostly harmless.”

“Mostly harmless, but super effective, by the looks of it,” Shiro comments, rubbing his wrists.

Keith looks him over with scrutiny, before he smiles with relief once he sees that Shiro really is unhurt. Then, he turns and starts jogging down the hallway.

“You don’t happen to have a cell phone on you, do you?” Shiro asks as he follows.

“No, they inspected me at the entrance, and putting a cell phone near a pile of saltpeter and sugar that you’re going to blow up alongside potentially flammable oil paint is a bad idea.”

“…I’m guessing the paintings you brought are fake, then,” Shiro frowns, and he can’t help the slight bitterness that edges his tone. “Like a lot of things in your life are.”

Keith stops, if only for a second. “I may have lied about a lot of things,” he quietly admits, “but not about what there was between the two of us.”

“Forgive me if I’m not exactly ready to believe you.” No matter how much he would like to, he adds silently.

“Then believe this,” Keith replies, his voice almost a whisper as he uses the light of his glasses to light the way. “I’ll get us out of here thanks to you.”

Shiro blinks in confusion as he follows.

“You’re the one who told me that a great deal of Venice is built over or renovated from old buildings,” Keith continues, “so after I was told where to meet, I took the liberty to research the area. Turns out there’s a tradition that says there are two synagogues that had once been hidden here, disguised as normal houses, before they were demolished by the locals-turns out this is one of them. Also turns out there are plenty of secret passages that lead out towards different parts of the island, just in case there needs to be a speedy escape-this is one of them.”

“And here I thought my fun facts about the city bored you.”

“I was never bored with you. Never.”

The end of the hallway brings them to a closed door, which Keith lock picks and opens up in no time. A small set of rickety wooden stairs leads up to a small circular trap door, which looks a lot like a sewer grate. Soon enough, the door is opened, and Shiro finds himself back into the cool, open air of a large courtyard, while Keith hoists himself out with a hop.

As he looks straight, he can see the lights of the large hotels that dotted the Lido on the horizon; looking behind him, he can see the Campanile just to the side of the great domed church and adjacent, attached buildings. Immediately he knows where he is.

“Le Zitelle… we’re on Giudecca Island,” he murmurs, a little bit surprised that Zarkon didn’t bring them somewhere beyond the city’s jurisdiction, perhaps even to another country. Then again, Zarkon does Venice his personal empire. “The Palladio is right here, and there are dozens of residences and other hotels-”

“No,” Keith quickly shakes his head. “We can’t. We don’t know how far Zarkon’s influence goes. After all, he was able to find out about you and me, wasn’t he?”

There is a hidden question in that sentence, one that Shiro doesn’t miss. “No, you’re right. We can’t trust anyone at the moment. I only outright told my two men about you, and no one should have been able to access my work computer, yet he somehow knows.”

He doesn’t want to believe that James or Ryan would ever betray him like that, but he knows it’s possible. The other, slightly scarier possibility is that someone bugged his work area without his knowledge.

A nondescript camera to monitor him and his coworkers’ activities in real time can be hidden in ceiling tiles; a trojan program slipped onto his computer through an innocuous e-mail he opened can log all of his keystrokes without him even realizing it.

“We should hide, for now,” Keith motions away from the building. “At least until we find a way to contact someone.”

“Okay.”

Shiro lets Keith lead the way once more, then follows him after. It turns out that behind Le Zitelle’s courtyard is a large garden, and beyond that is a lush grouping of private backyards, gardens, and even small farms with crops. They proceed to dive through a set of trees, before crawling under a small hole in the hedge, which Keith plugs with as many leaves as he can once they are through, and into a line of tomato vines.

The hole aside, the hedge is otherwise thick and tall enough to hide them with a wall of shadows, which is good when he hears a shout behind him. There is the pounding of feet on grass, and the rustling of the trees that he and Keith had just passed through. The shouting gets closer, before receding again.

For what feels like a long time, the only sound Shiro can feel is Keith’s breath against his neck, and the beating of his own heart. He can’t say if it’s because of fear, or because of Keith’s vicinity to him. He hopes that the other doesn’t notice the heat emanating from his cheeks.

Then, without warning, the sound of guns going off flying rips through the air.

Keith startles immediately, then crawls out of the hedge and back into the hotel’s garden, and Shiro follows him. From the small brick-and-iron gate that they are ultimately drawn to, they can’t see anything, but Shiro knows well enough the sound of shootouts, as well as the sound of police sirens that start to emit ahead of them. Without waiting for Keith’s opinion as to what is happening, he throws open the gate and walks towards the waterfront of the Fondamenta Zitelle.

There are three police ships at the closest mooring, and dozens of policemen around; a couple of them are handcuffing two men they have pinned on the ground. With the ships’ masthead lights shining on them, Shiro realizes they are two of Zarkon’s men. Unsurprisingly, neither Zarkon nor Sendak seem to be anywhere that the police are. 

With a grateful sigh, he focuses his attention on the man who’s giving orders. He lights up when he realizes who it is.

“It’s Brigadier General Holt!” he happily exclaims. “We’re safe.”

He turns around and he’s almost surprised to see Keith is still here, still standing next to him, with a relieved expression on his face. For a moment, they both look into each other’s eyes, and he can see the genuine happiness all over Keith’s face. For the first time, it seems like the true Keith is in front of him, unguarded and completely open and honest.

That is precisely when Shiro shoots his left arm out and grabs Keith’s right arm, gripping hard to ensure that his suspect can’t run away again.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, unable to look Keith in the eye. “But Keith… Red… you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent...”


	4. Part 4

In all honesty, Keith isn’t angry with Shiro. He can’t be.

He already shouldn’t have expected any different from the Inspector, considering how personal the Red investigation was to him. And Keith did lie to Shiro, or at least hid part of the truth from him. Since the moment he decided to go save him, he knew arrest was a possible outcome, and he accepted the risk. Besides, the Red Lion is safe now, and his mission is thus accomplished. He can go to jail without regrets.

No, aside from the fact that Shiro didn’t speak to him once after he finished reading him his rights and slapped handcuffs on him, the thing that bothers him the most is the overall boredom of his current situation. Once they bought him back to the nearest police station, he was booked, then dumped into an interrogation room, where he’s been left alone for several hours.

The random lieutenant who escorted him there was kind enough to bring him something to drink (which Keith has left untouched, out of habit) but otherwise he’s there to rot, to stew, while he waits.

Objectively, Keith knows the cops have a lot to do, especially since they just caught Venice’s most wanted criminal, but still. He’s bored. There is literally nothing to do but stare at the table, walk around the table, lie under the table, and on occasion glance up at the camera. After six hours, he decides that he will pay for someone, anyone, to enter the room and start questioning him.

It would at least break the monotony.

Of course, he really should have been careful about what he wished for, because when finally the door does open, Shiro is the one that walks in, and that immediately puts him on edge. He looks tired, even drained, and he’s still wearing his dirt-caked uniform.

There’s a pleasant smile on Shiro’s face, nevertheless, and he places a tray with a couple of sandwiches and a cup of coffee on the table. Keith looks down at the food, then back at Shiro, confused, as he slides a folder out from beneath the sandwich tray.

“They’re from Sal,” Shiro finally speaks, breaking the silence. “Another person you should apologize to when we’re done here.”

“To be fair, I quit like that because you found me out.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Are you telling me it’s my fault you lied to me and used your job to try and sabotage my case against you?”

“No. That’s not-ugh, I’m sorry.” Keith takes one of the sandwiches and stuffs it in his mouth to stop himself from babbling. A moment after swallowing, he speaks again. “I didn’t mean it like that… I mean, I shouldn’t have said that at all. You can probably tell I’m a little nervous. Sorry. I’ve never been arrested before?”

“Look, if it makes you feel any better,” Shiro leans back and sighs, “I’m here as a representative of the Venice municipal department, so I should really not spend my time using our relationship against you. If anything, I should be having someone else conduct this interview… but… I have to know.”

At this, the smile is gone from Shiro’s face, and despite his obvious attempts to not look hurt, it’s clear that he’s failing. At the sight Keith feels like what he’s done is akin to kicking a puppy, and it just makes him feel worse about the entire situation.

“You have every right to be angry, you know,” Keith murmurs, hands folding in his lap. “For what it counts, I’m truly sorry. None of this should have happened, especially last night.”

“…Then why did you do it?” There is a strain of weariness in Shiro’s voice. “You didn’t have to go so far.”

“I mean… it seemed like a good idea at first.” Keith closes his eyes, fully aware that he’s lying through his teeth and that, in fact, he thought it was an incredibly bad idea, while everyone else had insisted that it totally was. Not that Shiro or anyone else needs to know that minor detail. “Just some innocent flirting to find out what you knew. You weren’t supposed to… you know, get attached and stuff.”

 _I wasn’t supposed to get attached, either_ remains unsaid, even if Shiro’s expression falters further, becomes pained, at the confession. Keith can only look away with reddening cheeks.

“You came to save me. You risked getting killed by Zarkon, just for me.”

“I would never let an innocent person get killed because of me, no matter who it was. I know I’m not an angel, but I’m not that kind of bad.”

“…Right.” And just like that, Keith could feel the wall come down between them as Shiro’s tone becomes neutral and clinically professional. He turns to see Shiro, poker face activated, as he rolls his shoulders. Then, he opens the folder in front of him and begins rifling through the contents, placing several photos and forms in front of Keith.

“So, here’s where we’re at right now. We’ve checked Zarkon’s little lair, but he wasn’t there anymore, and we could find no trace of his presence or any of his other men. The villa we assume he would have used to connect to the old synagogue is officially owned by a foreign family without any known ties to him.”

Keith lets out a snort at this. Given the research Pidge did on Giudecca Island before the rescue, he is fully aware that the villa is actually the subject of a tenuously-legal straw purchase between said family and Zarkon. He’s also pretty sure that Shiro knows this as well, not that he nor Keith could have outright proven Zarkon used it to commit any crimes if push came to shove, of course. Keith can only imagine how irritated Shiro is at this newest failure to nab him.

“We were able to collect the Green Lion and the Yellow Lion in a reasonably intact condition, since they were protected by the carton they were in; unfortunately, the Blue Lion got half destroyed by the explosion and we can’t even figure out what the last piece in the carton was meant to be at the moment. But I guess that’s not a problem, because they’re all forgeries?”

Keith nods.

“We’ll still have them checked, just to be on the safe side,” Shiro continues as he places a few more photos on the table. “But the Red Lion was nowhere to be seen, no matter how hard they searched the premises.”

Keith picks up several of the photos, his eyes catching the ones taken of his work.

There was the Yellow Lion, with the lion that curled in a deep sleep among the golden sand, set under a bright sun.

The Green Lion, meanwhile, has the lioness scratching its claws into the trunk of a tall tree in the middle of a green forest. Both do have some searing and smoke damage on them, but Shiro was right-they are still recognizable and intact.

The Blue Lion forgery, meanwhile, has a giant smoldering hole in it, with the rest covered in burns. And the Black Lion… well, it’s completely black now, the smoke damage completely turning it into an unrecognizable black scrap of canvas. He drops the photos back on the table, feeling Shiro’s eyes boring intently into him.

“Where is the Red Lion, Keith?” Somehow, Keith is not surprised that would be the Inspector’s first question. “I know you had something to do with its disappearance, even if I can’t outright prove it.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Maybe Zarkon could have taken it back in the confusion? As I know you’ve noticed that he is very interested in keeping that thing for himself.”

“So are you, Keith.”

“I don’t have it. It’s the truth,” Keith cannot help but insist. “Just like with why I came to save you, I swear!”

“And I thank you for that. Truly I do.” Shiro rubs his face. “But at the end of the day, right here and now, I’m a cop. And both as a cop and a… a friend, it’s my duty to urge you to cooperate to the fullest extent.”

This serves to earn Shiro a very skeptical look from Keith.

“Listen,” Shiro continues, and suddenly he looks... angry? Concerned? Keith isn’t sure anymore. “Until now, I haven’t been questioned about you, and my lieutenants haven’t pressed the issue. But my ultimate superior, the supreme commander of the force, is going to come in and interview me about what just happened when I leave this room, and I will have to tell him about everything, including our relationship.

It doesn’t matter I didn’t know you were Red the Thief, because it directly helped in causing my abduction. And even if that didn’t happen, the fact I was romantically involved with you is enough to cast suspicion over everything I’ve done on this case.

My career is going to be put under a fine-toothed comb, with every action I’ve made scrutinized. At the very least I’ll be subject to a hearing, probably suspended from the force and taken off the case entirely. At worst? I’ll be fired and, if I’m really unlucky and my boss decides I actively aided you, I’ll also be charged with abuse of office.”

The more Shiro goes into the consequences, the more Keith heart sinks, and the more he can feel his defenses crumble.

“As much as that’ll suck for me, it’ll be worse for you.”

Even if Shiro is just saying this to evoke Keith’s guilt and induce him to confess (which, by the way, if that is the case, it’s totally working) the worst part is that Keith can tell by the tone of his voice that the inspector is hating every minute of having to do this to him.

“Because when I’m gone, regardless of the reasons, I doubt whoever replaces me will hesitate to lock you up and throw away the key. So, for both our sakes, even if you only do it for yourself, it’s better you start talking. If you’re truly sorry for what you did, you already understand it’s the right thing to do.”

A long, uncomfortable silence falls between them. The longer the silence goes, the harder it gets to keep quiet. Maybe it’s because he’s in a police station and the silence is all part and parcel of the mind games the cops use to get their perps to spill the beans. Or maybe, just maybe, he knows Shiro is telling the truth and, quite honestly, Keith can’t help but feel the full weight of what he did to Shiro start to overwhelm him.

Finally he slumps, his willpower collapsing in a puff of smoke.

“…What is it you want me to say?” Keith asks, tired and done with everything.

“I want you to testify against Zarkon about what happened,” Shiro replies, as if it is obvious. “If you accept, we can make a deal with you to lower your sentence. But that’s only if you confess.”

“You know it’s not that easy, Shiro…”

“Yes, it is that easy. It can be. All I want are the names of all of your accomplices and where we can find them, and all the paintings you’ve stolen returned to their rightful owners. I’m sure we can work something that’s good for everyone-”

The door wide abruptly opens with a bang. The man who enters is not a policeman, but rather a middle-aged man with wild orange hair and perfectly-combed mustache. His flamboyant attire seems to come straight out of wardrobe stuck in the sixties-avocado green tartan suit jacket adorned with yellow plaid, dark blue turtleneck and teal bell-bottoms. He carries with him a leather briefcase that he throws onto the table with a theatrical flourish, barely missing the coffee as Shiro pulls it away.

“Please step away from my client, young man!”

Frankly, Keith has never been happier to see him.

“Wh—you again?” Shiro’s reaction to the unexpected newcomer is a mixture of surprise and annoyance. “You’re Keith’s lawyer?”

“Indeed! I am Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, at your service, Inspector.” He makes an over exaggerating bow. “Well, technically at Mr. Koh’s service, but-”

“I know who you are, I didn’t forget.” Shiro brought a hand to rub at his temples. “You were Lance Serrano’s lawyer as well.”

“Why, you seem suspicious of that fact! Well,” Coran claps his hands together. “I shall have you know that I have a lot of clients in my practice, young lad. How do you think I can afford such nice clothes?”

“Maybe so, but it certainly seems like you have just one type of client that you like to represent.”

“Correlation does not imply causation, my boy!” Shiro is given a wagging finger for his troubles. “Now, if you would please leave us, and perhaps turn off that camera while you’re at it? I doubt you’d like to violate lawyer-client confidentiality, unless your department likes to lose millions of euros in lawsuits! Go on, shoo!”

Shiro lets out an exasperated sigh, and Keith can only imagine how the first meeting with Coran and Lance went for him. Shiro stands up, taking back his folder as he leaves the room without another word. For his part, Coran waits for the recording light of the camera to blink off, before he finally sits down in front of Keith, a serious expression replacing the joviality that had been on his face.

“Are you okay?” he looks Keith over, concern in his eyes.

“Fine, I’m fine. I didn’t say anything.” At least, he didn’t say anything Shiro didn’t already suspect, or anything that could directly incriminate him in a court of law. “I’m still alive, and that’s what matters, right?”

“Yes. It appears Pidge’s little bug worked.”

“Yup, and I’m hoping it hasn’t destroyed my stomach lining in the meantime.” He wasn’t very happy to eat that metal thing, but Pidge insisted that it was the only safe way for the others to track his position for when they (anonymously, of course) tipped off her father at the Carabinieri about Shiro’s situation. If he’s lucky enough, the police won’t check the toilet in his cell for the next few days.

“Right. I hope so too. Now, I must admit the situation doesn’t look good, not with the Inspector as main witnesses. I don’t know what else they might have on you, given the comprehensive investigation, and the multiple cities involved. However, the possibility that there is evidence against you taken into consideration… Well, let’s just say your options to avoid a lengthy jail sentence are… limited.”

The attorney pauses to let that sink in, before turning to open his briefcase.

“Now. The rest of your team, myself, and, ah, our mutual friend, as it were, agrees that perhaps we should consider what we should do-”

“No.” Keith’s response is swift but firm. “Whatever it is you’re going to say, the answer is no.”

“Keith…” Coran seems stunned. “You understand that if you are convicted of the crimes stemming from Red the Thief’s activities, you could be looking at life in prison.”

“No, listen, Coran. They don’t have anything on me. The connection between the Castle of Lions quintet and Red the Thief’s crimes is circumstantial and speculative on Shiro’s part. He’s got no definitive proof that I’m even Red the Thief for that matter, and I’ve never given him any other confirmation that he can use in court against me or anyone else.”

At this, a plan starts to form in Keith’s mind, and he leans back, relaxing.

“All the police have for sure is that I forged parts of the Castle of Lions to fool Zarkon, and then tried to steal the authentic Red Lion from him, which no one can prove I succeeded in doing, not even Shiro.”

“You may be correct, but those acts are still crimes that carry jail time.”

“I know, and I’m fine with that. We all considered that possibility when we first accepted the offer to do all of this,” Keith nods. “I will plead guilty for what they can actually prove, but I will insist I worked alone. See what you can get me for that, and I’ll take it.”

Coran pauses momentarily, as if deep in thought. Then, he nods.

“I’ll… do what I can, if you give me something to bring to the bargaining table,” Coran responds, furrow knitted. “However, I fear it might not be much.”

“Whatever you can squeeze out of them is fine by me. Are the others at least safe?”

“Well,” Coran shrugs. “I can at least report a positive on that front. We moved everyone else and all the more problematic gear off Torcello early this morning, amid all the confusion raised by what was happening on Giudecca and you-know-who’s complaints about his beauty sleep being interrupted.” A quick wink before he finishes, lowering his voice as if the cameras are still recording. “The paintings are still at the villa, but they are safe there for the time being. Pidge has begun preparations to bring you someplace where you also might be able to lay low, once you get out of this pickle you’re in.”

“Good.” Keith lowers his voice as well. “When you go into the garden in the back of the Bauer Palladio, go south to the grove of trees in the left corner. I left the Red Lion inside a hole in a hedge and covered it in leaves, after I hid it under my jacket.”

“Is that so?” Coran starts to chuckle. “Well, thank goodness it’s not supposed to rain today. I shall book an overnight room for myself as soon as I leave the station! I was so looking forward to the Baglioni Luna, too…”

“You can stay there tomorrow night. But…that’s that.” Keith feels a weight lift from his shoulders at the proclamation, and he smiles. “I did my part. The Lions are going to be together at last; the rest is up to you.”

***

“So, let me get this straight, Shirogane,” Iverson grumbles. He rubs his temples and Shiro shoots him an apologetic smile as he stretches a little in his chair in front of the desk. He really can’t blame the poor guy, considering what he just revealed.

“You were dating this guy, Keith Koh. But in truth he’s also Red the Thief. All the thefts of intrinsically priceless works of art Red did were to hide his true objective, which was a bunch of kitch-level cat pictures-”

“Lions, sir.”

“Whatever, they’re kitchen wallpaper in comparison! And Zarkon Galra is interested in them too, for reasons that are apparently beyond comprehension to you and me both. Then, in the midst of dating this guy, you went to Zarkon’s Carnevale party-which he personally invited you to, lest I forget!-you caught Red trying to steal a painting, continued your investigation-despite the blatant conflict of interest-which oh by the way you were barred from doing by order of the public prosecutor in charge of your case, and then as a result of your actions, you were hijacked in broad daylight and nearly killed by Zarkon. Have I got that right?!”

“You forgot about the part where I apprehended my… well, probably now ex-boyfriend right after he helped me escape.” Yes, Shiro knows he’s being a smidge snarky, but he’s somehow in a state so beyond caring that he feels strangely light as he relays his recent folly. “Otherwise, yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

He does jump a little from his seat when the commander slams his fists, then his head, on his desk. It causes everything to shake violently from the impact.

“GODDAMIT, INSPECTOR! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?” After his head flies back up Iverson stands and paces furiously around the office. With how enraged he is, Shiro isn’t surprised he doesn’t just flip his desk over “Do you not realize how many rules you’ve violated in the past 24 hours alone!? How am I supposed to explain this to Ellen without getting half the force fired!? I should toss you into the nearest volcano as a human sacrifice for your utter…stupidity!” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Why the hell didn’t you come to me the moment you found any of this out!? I could have assigned someone less compromised!” 

“With… all due respect, sir, the only thing that would have changed in the current situation is that you might have been abducted with,” Shiro replies, choosing his words carefully. “It’s pretty obvious someone’s found a way to leak as much information about the Red investigation as possible to Zarkon, otherwise he never could have known about the connection between myself and Keith. I’m only telling you because I don’t have much of a choice anymore, but also, to warn you that you shouldn’t be shocked if this information mysteriously and conveniently becomes public knowledge to our detriment.”

Iverson stops and turns to look at Shiro, face still red from anger. “…that may be true,” he admits with clenched teeth. “But I don’t like this at all. You should have at least trusted me with this information before it got this bad.”

“And I apologize for not doing that, Sir,” and Shiro is truly sincere as he speaks. “I know I should have said something, and I know I got too personally involved with the case. If you prefer to soften the blow, I can claim that I didn’t recognize Keith the night of the party, maybe omit that I even saw him-”

“NO! No, no, no.” Iverson flops back down into his seat, rubbing his face with both hands. “No more lies, no more selective omissions, that’s gotten everyone into enough trouble as it is. If I’m going to explain all of this to Ellen without her tossing us to the media, who will have a field day with the scandal this will cause, I’m sure, I’m going to need something concrete on this Keith Koh. Something that will make her reconsider raking us over the coals.”

Just then, there’s a knock at the door. Much to Shiro’s annoyance, it’s Coran who walks in.

“I have spoken with my client,” he announces with a swish of his hand, which holds a piece of paper. “He has agreed to plead guilty to all charges listed here, and he will testify against Zarkon, when he is finally arrested. In return, I hope you shall have the prosecutors and judges in the Court of Cassation consider an appropriately light sentence when and if this goes to trial.”

He places the paper on the desk. Iverson takes it, reads it and growls. “Are you kidding me?! This is ridiculous! Your client has admitted to nothing except a few paltry misdemeanors that barely begin to punish him, relative to the gravity of his actions!”

“Well, of course he’s admitted to those paltry misdemeanors, because those are his only crimes.” Coran crosses his arms. “And I am certain you will find that they are the only ones you’ll ever be able to prove.”

Four counts of forgery of cultural property and one count of attempted theft by housebreaking, Shiro reads. There is nothing on the list directly related to Keith being Red, or to the crimes that Red the Thief had committed.

“Ridiculous,” Iverson repeats, even angrier than before. “Keith Koh really thinks he’s smart, doesn’t he? Well, you can tell him to keep dreaming! We want a full confession and a list of your client’s accomplices before even think about negotiating an agreement. You know full well as we do that he’s Red the Thief, and we won’t let him get away with what he’s done!”

“Very well.” Coran takes back the paper. “In that case, my client won’t admit to anything, and you will have to prove everything you’re avouching about him during the preliminary hearing next month. You may say all you want about Keith Koh, but you have no proof connecting him to Red the Thief.”

“Inspector Shirogane here can identify him in court! He saw who Red was!”

“Inspector Shirogane was romantically involved with my client for over a month. How well do you think that will play out in the court of opinion? He can certainly say he saw who Red was, but I can just as easily make it seem as if your inspector arrested Mr. Koh over a bad breakup.” Coran points to Iverson, the hint of a smirk on his face.

“If that doesn’t convince you, may I point out how the Inspector’s last appearance as a witness didn’t go well? Not to mention how he had been sighted at Zarkon’s Carnevale gala, despite being taken off the case concerning the Galra cartel years ago? Mark my words, Commander, putting him on the stand only to have him exposed as a scorned boyfriend, or worse, a corrupt cop on Zarkon’s payroll will shatter what is left of his credibility.”

Despite his goofy appearance, Coran is as cunning as any lawyer could be. Shiro grits his teeth and clenches his fists, but he doesn’t respond. Iverson, meanwhile, looks ready to explode.

“Well, I’ll give you the day to think about it, before we withdraw the offer,” Coran finishes his discourse and leaves the room. “Toodles!”

With that, the door closes, and Shiro can only run a frustrated hand through his hair. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Keith wouldn’t go down without a fight-he’d been doing it the entire time, after all.

“Sir, I-”

“Go Shirogane,” Iverson comments tired. “Just go. I’ll read your report again and I’ll call you if I need to. But just get out of here before I fire you.”

Shiro doesn’t hesitate to obey his superior’s orders. He’s tired, he’s cranky, and frankly he could use a nap and a shower, however that happened. He practically flees the police station, reaching his apartment in record time. He can still feel Keith’s presence, yet he finds he can’t really complain about it. Instead, he just drops his clothing on the floor as he undresses and lets himself fall in the bed, closing his eyes as he does so.

The cell phone rings just as Shiro is drifting off. An unknown number is calling him. With a frown, he answers, fully expecting Zarkon or Sendak to start taunting him. Barring that, he expects Iverson or Sanda to tell him he’s been canned. ~~~~

“Good afternoon.” Instead, it’s a female voice he has never heard before. “I believe I have useful information for you regarding your investigation of Red the Thief, Inspector Shirogane.”

“Who are you,” immediately he is sitting up, his body tense, “and who gave you my number?”

“We share a mutual friend,” is the enigmatic answer from the other end. “I can explain, but I don’t want to talk by phone. It’s too risky.”

“What do you want, then?”

“Come to the BaglioniLuna, and introduce yourself at the reception desk as soon as you can. I’ll be waiting for you. Until then.”

Click. The phone goes dead.

Shiro knows that there are a lot of things wrong with this abrupt development, and a lot of things that can go wrong. Yet, that and his exhaustion, he soon enough finds himself showered, clothed, and walking through the Piazza di San Marco and into the lobby of the BaglioniLuna.

“Uh… hi. I’m Takashi Shirogane,” he starts to speak as he approaches the reception desk. “I am here to meet one of the patrons of your hotel?”

The man looks down towards a pad of paper and nods. “Ah, yes, our esteemed guest in the terrace suite. Just one moment, please.” He calls for his manager, proceeds to accompany Shiro to the nearest elevator. They reach the third floor, and once they approach one of the doors, which Shiro knows opens up to one of the most expensive and exclusive hotel rooms in all of Venice.

“Madame, the inspector has arrived,” he announces through the wood.

“Thank you,” comes the youthful female voice from within.

With that, the manager bows and leaves, and right after the door to the suite opens. A beautiful, young, dark-skinned woman with long white hair stands there, wearing an elegant baby blue suit and a pink scarf. She smiles pleasantly at Shiro as she alights on him.

“And thank you for meeting me on such short notice, Inspector. Please, come in.”

The suite is big, with an entire sitting room separated from the bedroom and bathroom. Beyond another doorway is an outside terrace outside with what looks to be a fantastic view of the Campanile, San Giorgio and all the surrounding roofs.

Despite the incredible furniture and decoration of the suite, each piece no doubt costing more than he could ever hope to make on his salary in a lifetime, Shiro’s attention is nevertheless immediately to the glass coffee table. In the center is an unassuming painting that rests on an easel. Shiro, however, recognizes it immediately.

It’s the Black Lion. The last painting of the Castle of Lions’ collection, the one that had remained unaccounted for since Alfor Altea’s death. Shiro cannot help but stare, eyes wide at the sight.

“Yes, this is the real deal,” the woman nods next to him. “I promise.”

Without bothering to ask permission, Shiro kneels down to examine the work. It depicts a black lion with his mane flared around its head; it seems to stare directly at the viewer, letting out what could be a great and mighty roar with its massive mouth. A medieval castle stands majestically in the background. It’s seemingly as insignificant as the others, but now that Shiro has seen all five of them in some capacity, he finally realizes there’s something more to them. He can see the swirling branch of leaves in the upper left corner above the castle. Likewise, there is the edge of a sand dune filling the bottom left rim.

“They can be combined,” he realizes, suddenly feeling foolish for not even considering this possibility before.

His fingers gently brush the upper right corner of the painting, where a small plume of flames and smoke that connect it to the volcano in Red Lion’s painting are visible. In the bottom right corner, small droplets of the Blue Lion’s lake refract on the grass near the Black Lion’s foot. Thinking back, Shiro realizes that in every painting has a connecting point to this central piece, like the petals that surround the stem and the carpels of a flower.

“All five paintings… the Castle of Lions isn’t just a themed set with big cats, is it?”

“This is correct,” the woman says. “It is meant to be assembled into a polyptych. However, while my father designed them to combine into one large work, he also took care to paint and conceal them like separate works, in order to keep the Lions away from one another.”

“Your father?” Shiro turns to look at her; looking her over, she does look rather familiar, though he can’t quite figure out how.

“Yes. Allow me to introduce myself properly, Inspector Shirogane.” She leans her hand forward and he shakes it. “I’m Allura Altea, daughter of Alfor.”

Of course. He should have known.

“The pleasure is mine,” Shiro says sincerely, bowing his head a little ad he breaks off the handshake. “I really hope you know what’s going on with all of this.”

“I do,” She nods, looking back at the painting. “I’m afraid this might be my fault. At the very least, I should apologize for causing you such trouble as of late.”

“Really?” Shiro’s interest is certainly piqued at this. “Explain.”

With a sigh, she sits down in one of the big couches, she brushes her pants off and crosses her legs. “The whole story starts years ago, in Naples,” she begins. “When a group of five children grew up poor together on the streets and became close friends. One was my father, and another was Zarkon.”

Shiro sits down in the couch across from her, folding her hands as she speaks. She certainly seems willing to talk to him, though naturally he didn’t bring anything to record her testimony because he was too exhausted to think about it, so go figure. Still, he hopes that even if it can’t really be on the official record, she might actually have the answers that he has sorely been wanting since he first got involved in this whole sordid affair. He also hopes he’ll remember it after he finally collapses from exhaustion.

“They all promised one another they’d make something of themselves, but while everyone else managed to pull themselves out of poverty through honest means… Zarkon couldn’t. His family had once been very rich and influential in Campanian society and politics, but before he was born, there was a scandal that cost the Galra everything. He was never able to overcome the stigma of his family’s actions, so he ended up an itinerant drifter for years.”

“Zarkon never spoke to me about his past, at least nothing outside of his business dealings,” Shiro murmurs. “I already knew he was from Naples, and Sendak had said they’d been childhood friends there, but I could find next to nothing to back that up. This is the first time I’m hearing anything about the specifics.”

“Zarkon’s taken great pains to cover up information on his early life. He’s also been keen on concealing the fact that his first real job was under my father as his assistant.” Shiro’s eyes widened as Allura continued. “He was meant to help organize exhibitions of my father’s work, and to make connections with art dealers, once he became a full-time artist. But Zarkon wasn’t satisfied with that. He wanted the power his family used to have and more, and he didn’t care what he had to do to get it.”

“What did he do?”

“You should know, considering your own past with him.” Allura gives him a look that’s only slightly tinged with condescension at his apparent obliviousness. He must be even more exhausted than he thought. “He created his own drug trade, using my father’s connections in the art world to set it up. My father didn’t suspect a thing for years, not even after Zarkon quit working for him to grow his illicit empire. By the time he did, Zarkon was the head of his own mafia clan, and too powerful to stop outright.”

“Then… was Zarkon your father’s killer?”

“I don’t have any direct proof, but I’m certain he was.” Sadness clouds her eyes. “I was already studying abroad in America when my father started his own, private investigation, alongside the other three men they’d both grown up with. Soon after they started, my father’s friends began to disappear or die under mysterious circumstances, one by one; my father’s body was the last to be found.”

“So, he didn’t find out anything?”

“On the contrary.” The cloud of sadness turns into a twinkle of mischief. “A month before my father’s murder, Coran joined me in the United States with the Black Lion in hand, and explained what was happening.”

“Wait… Coran?” Again, he should have realized it, but again, he’s running on fumes at this point. “You mean Coran What’s-His-Name, the go-to for art crime and all related problems lawyer?”

“Yes, him. Mr. Smythe was my father’s lawyer even before Zarkon was hired; he’s been in my own life for so long, he’s like a second father to me.”

“Okay, so. What happened?”

“My father managed to uncover a treasure trove of financial and photographic evidence, enough to send Zarkon to jail for the rest of his life. However, he knew he couldn’t just hand it over to the police and risk Zarkon’s goons compromising it, or worse, have all that evidence go to court only for Zarkon to pay off the judge, or find a technicality to have it all declared illegal and inadmissible due to how it was found.” Allura took a deep breath.

“So, he decided to improvise with the tools he had. He created a specialized darknet, an overlay network on the dark web, one that contained all the proof he obtained. This darknet, Project Voltron, can only be accessed with a specific set of software configurations and authorizations set up, along with a bifurcated algorithm he invented to keep the system away from hackers. Yet even if someone successfully managed to crack all the computer-side requirements to access the site, they still need a key to fully unlock the information encrypted into it. This key is a customized QR code, the likes of which there is a 1 in 132 trillion chance of successfully duplicating without having the full functional form on hand.”

“You mean…”

“Yes.” She nods, her smile widening. “By fully putting together the Castle of Lions polyptych, you can find and scan the full QR code. My father separated the paintings so Zarkon couldn’t access and destroy the secured information on the darknet. My hope was to quietly recollect them all without anyone noticing, but Zarkon got the Red Lion first, which meant he was aware of the QR code’s existence for some time. Whatever means he came to learn of it didn’t matter-it forced me to change tactics.”

“You’re the financier of the whole operation, then.” There it is. He says it. “I had already figured Red the Thief’s other capers were a distraction for the true heist,” Shiro says. “It was a very elaborate cover, when you could have just bought the paintings outside of the Red Lion.”

“It was, but that was the only way to do it without immediately tipping Zarkon off to us. Besides, it wasn’t just my plan,” Allura murmurs. “I have the money, yes, but not the skill, so I put together a team with the intent of bringing all the Lions back together. All them had their own personal reasons to want Zarkon in prison. I’m sorry I didn’t recruit you, as well, but when I was assembling the gang, you were still recovering in the hospital from your amputation.”

“Some time ago, then,” Shiro knows he sounds as distracted as he feels as that information sinks in. “And Keith was one of those you contacted.”

“His mother was murdered by Zarkon. Despite all the setbacks in his life, his understanding of art and his own personal artistic ability and history of, ah, technical mimicry when it comes to art, have been a great aid, along with his physical capabilities.”

“I know that.” Shiro’s mind returns back to the lost sketchbook, somewhere deep in the lagoon. “What about the others?”

“I’m not going to reveal their identities to you, Inspector.”

“But one of them is Lance Serrano, right?”

Her answer is an enigmatic smile. “Keith wants to keep everyone safe from Zarkon. I think you can now see why he wants it that way, and why would be wrong to be overly harsh towards him, much less to anyone else involved in this.”

“What do you propose?” Shiro asks. “…If I can help, I will. But you must understand that I can’t promise that Keith won’t be jailed. And as an officer of the law, I can’t just let what’s transpired go as if nothing happened. He still committed a crime.”

“Yes, I know,” Allura looks back over to the Black Lion. “Keith will admit to forging the Castle of Lion paintings, and to attempting to gain full possession of the Castle of Lions’ suite, including the Black Lion. His defense for the latter crime will be that he only wished to hand over vital evidence to the police, without compromising his life or anyone else’s, and had no other means of doing it.”

“A state of need defense?”

“It’s not untrue, is it? He never intended to keep the paintings for himself, or to sell them for monetary value. The goal was always to safely reassemble the polyptych so that the authorities could scan the QR code and access Project Voltron, and that is precisely what I hope will happen here on out. In exchange for his full cooperation in the matter, you won’t ask him about his accomplices, or force him to admit he’s Red the Thief.”

“What about the other paintings he stole? Where are they?”

“I can’t divulge how, but for what it’s worth, I can promise that the paintings will be found in the meantime, and will be safely returned to their proper owners.”

The decisive, even defiant gaze Allura fixes on him indicates him that he won’t get a better deal than what he’s being offered.

And it is a good deal. Any deal that allows to take down Zarkon and his massive illegal empire so no one else gets hurt is good; great, even.

In truth, if Allura had come to him, explained her story and offered him a place on her Lion-retrieving, Zarkon-wrecking team, he would have joined in a heartbeat. He isn’t stranger to break the law for a greater good, after all.

Keith’s good motives can’t reverse the personal heartbreak he caused to Shiro with his lies and trickery. That particular ache in his chest is still fresh and sharp, being barely a day young. But Shiro’s personal feelings in the matter shouldn’t interfere with the truth.

Keith doesn’t deserve a harsh punishment; none of the group deserves it, since they ultimately stole as a necessity, they didn’t sell any part of Italy’s cultural heritage, and if Allura is being truthful, they had always intended to cooperate with the police on some level.

And they’re going to bring Zarkon down.

So, Shiro nods.

“I’ll… do what I can to convince my superiors to take this deal.”

Allura smiles satisfied. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you. I hope we can meet again under better circumstances.”

***

“You should have seen her face!” Coran ends his story, laughing loudly. “She was there, complaining about the invasion of her privacy, listing a dozen or so procedural regulations that the police in her villa on were violating and how she’d get them all fired. Oh the rant she gave to me, too-she would have me tried in front of Court of Cassation for trespassing and then dragged in front of the local bar of Veneto to be stripped of my license, it was special. The whole time she was shouting and berating everyone. And there they were, all the paintings, just hiding in her kitchen, right next to her dishwasher! Good god, I was happy the police let me come along for the ride. You should have seen her face when she was handcuffed. In fact, I took a photo on my camera! Want to see?”

Keith shakes his head, with not even the hint of a smile on his face. He’s happy, of course, that the Castle of Lions’ was scanned, and Project Voltron was finally, safely accessed. The information had been completely illuminating, to say the least; the treasure trove of information that had been discovered had barely even been mined, and yet already dozens of public officials in Venice alone have been arrested based on the revelations. Among them was, of course, Ellen Sanda, but the police had originally not been searching her Burano villa for evidence of the paintings.

In fact, Project Voltron had revealed that she had been Zarkon’s mole for years: not only had she been among those responsible for undermining Shiro’s undercover work and case against the crime boss, she had been the one who had passed the information on Red to Zarkon, having placed keylogging malware in an e-mail to Shiro that had been sending her everything he typed into his work computer for years.

Needless to say, Keith isn’t exactly going to feel sorry for her, now that Allura and his team have also framed her for Red’s crimes. Hell, he really hoped she’d be in jail for the rest of her life, alongside Zarkon and all his other cronies when he was finally put there. It’s the very least they deserved after all the misery they’ve caused throughout Italy.

On the other hand, he’d be happier if he wasn’t in prison, or at least not in the current situation he was in. He’s been in the district house at the casa circondariale at Santa Maria Maggiore. It’s boring, especially since he’s in special holding as a pre-trial prisoner, not to mention for his own safety. No one’s taking any chance, lest some of Zarkon’s friends try to off him. It’s been absolutely boring as a result, and he’s glad he’s got an excuse to get out of his cell, in the form of his lawyer.

After chuckling a little more, Coran clears his throat, his expression becoming more serious. “Anyways, we have some official business to attend to,” he says, taking a paper from his bag. “The new public prosecutor on your case is quite reasonable, though she at first insisted that you be in jail for five years, one year for each count. After some discussion, I convinced her to take the sentence down to four years. With good behavior, you could be out in two years, three years at most. I’m sorry I can’t do more for you.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Keith waves it off. “I’m just glad that I will get out of prison eventually. Wherever that prison’s going to be.”

He is being truthful about that, at least. Ever since the day he accepted the offer to participate in Allura’s crazy, dangerous and outright illegal plan, he was certain he would end up killed, or tortured, or worse. Then again, losing the first man he’d ever loved as a result of his actions is probably a very close second place to being the worst thing that could happen, yet despite the pain in his chest when he thinks about Shiro, he knows he’ll eventually get over it. Maybe. They say time heals all wounds; self-inflicted ones are surely no different.

Besides, Shiro’s better off without him and the stain he brought to everything he touched as Red the Thief. He nearly destroyed the guy’s career; if Shiro never wants to see him again, it’s only what he deserves. He doesn’t hesitate to sign the notarized statement, not even bothering to read it beforehand. Once he finishes, the door opens; the superior commissioner of Venice is standing there, hands folded behind his back. Keith cannot help but stiffen.

“Ah, I’ll take that to Ryner. If all goes as planned, Mr. Koh here will be processed and transferred south within the next week to serve his sentence.” After plucking the paper from Coran’s hands, Iverson turns to Keith. “By the way, Inspector Shirogane asked me to deliver a message to you, as he’s unable to do so himself at the moment.”

Well, this is it. This is where Shiro tells him to drop dead. Keith swallows and keeps his head up, waiting for the hammer to fall.

“He’s sorry he lost your notebook. It happened during his abduction. He hopes you can understand.” The older man places a sketchbook on the table. “He hopes you can forgive him and that you continue to develop your craft even in jail. And… if you ever want to contact him, let me know so we can set something safe up.”

Keith stares at the book as Iverson takes his leave, along with Coran. It’s bound with Ebrû paper, with the pages within being in the Venetian style as well. It’s beautiful and expensive looking-and something he doesn’t deserve. From the time he receives it, until the time he is finally escorted back into his cell, he feels his eyes mist up.

He really isn’t worth this gift, he thinks. The fact Shiro had been so kind, and Keith had spat that kindness back in his face, is unforgivable.

It really is for the best, he decides, that he ever sees Shiro again.

***

It’s a single EasyJet flight after landing in Thessaloniki, and a breathtaking train ride past stone castles and highlands, Shiro is finally at the small house he’s rented out in the tiny town of Ormos Panagias. It is the complete opposite of Venice: quiet, small, boasting unassuming houses and a sparse population, even during the tourist and regatta seasons.

It doesn’t even share the same sea-it is on the other side of the Chalkidiki peninsula, a small Greek town looking out on the Aegean, as opposed to the Adriatic-nor does it have the canals and palazzos he had come to know and love for so long.

And Shiro is perfectly fine with that, as the owner, a former Londoner, graciously greets him and gives him the keys to the upstairs flat that Shiro is renting for the next two weeks. ~~~~

With a sigh, Shiro closes the door behind him, and just like that, it is as if he is closing the door on the biggest chapter in his life. It had started with himas a fresh-faced recruit to the Venice municipal police, accepting his first major job as an undercover spy in the Galra cartel.

It had just ended two weeks ago, when Zarkon Galra was finally convicted for all of his crimes and sent to jail for the rest of his life, while Shiro was released from the custody of the CPD, free to use his real name once more.

He doesn’t want to stop fighting for what’s right. Though the Galra cartel has been broken, it is not entirely gone. They have allies and associates all over Italy who haven’t been uncovered or implicated yet. Voices say that Zarkon’s heir is ready to take back the head of the group and resume his business.

But he is tired of being a cop. The past four years had shown him just how truly ugly police politics in Italy could be. The documents that Alfor Altea had hid revealed an entire sea of corruption inside both the politics and the police force, making clear how Zarkon was able to avoid justice for so long.

The truth about Shiro’s first downfall is tied to that corruption, and so is the death of many good officers, like Adam Wilson, like Matt Holt, like Krolia Marmora.

And when a group of wanna-be modern Robin Hood can do more for justice than the entire police force, well, that means that something is very wrong in the way things work, and a huge blow to Shiro’s pride as a cop.

Shiro will still fight – but on his own terms.

In the meantime, before he even begins to figure out what he’s going to do or where he’s going to live for the rest of his life, he wants to rest. Rest, relax, recharge, and finally have a real holiday for the first time since before he became a cop. How long has it been? Seven, eight years? He’s not sure.

In any case, in the weeks before the end of Zarkon’s trial, he started to get bombarded with online advertisements about this place in Greece he’d never heard before.

A little town in the middle of paradise, the ads would blast out, surrounded by a beautiful blue sea and bright golden sun! A place where no one will know who you are! An Airbnb where you can find yourself among tranquil mountains and fertile vineyards!

At first, he’d not paid much attention to the advertisement, especially given how such ads could easily be used to track him. However, as time went by, the ad’s ridiculous charm and constant touting of just how appealing being in the middle of nowhere (well, compared to Venice at least) began to rub off on him, and before he knew it, he was booking the house for his vacation.

He's not sure whether this was a good idea anymore, as he opens the door to his rental. It's cold and windy outside, given it’s the middle of February, and even though the weather is much like what he’d find in Venice at this time of year, Shiro cannot help but shiver as he makes his way to the bedroom. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought his swimsuit after all.

Then he lifts his head over towards the sofa in the living room. His mouth drops, as does the suitcase in his hands. In an instant he is no longer in the rented beach loft; instead, he is transported back in time, until he is standing in the center of Venice again.

The sketchbook is being given to him, and in it are drawings, perfect drawings that he can still visualize in all their detail, even a half a decade after he lost the sketchbook-and the man who had drawn Venice within it.

What he’s looking at, however, is not a sketch. It’s a big, bright oil painting that depicts an afternoon view of the sestieri of San Marco from San Giorgio Maggiore. The colors are soft and romantic, and the light and shadows are photorealistic in its detail; he can almost pretend he is back there watching the scene unfold, watching the gondola that rows by in the far left near the frame, while above it and the rest of the skyline the Campanile stands tall and proud.

It is too uncanny a similarity to be mere coincidence, and the initials on the right bottom of the work-KK-is only confirmation of what he already knows, deep in his heart. ~~~~

He doesn’t bother unpacking. Instead, he rushes back down the stairs, knocking wildly on the door of his lessor.

“Excuse me! Pardon me! I’m sorry, I must know!” When the door opens, Shiro immediately gets animated, gesticulating as he speaks. “The painting. The one in the living room… where do you get it?”

“Er…” The owner seems just a little surprised-if not distressed-with Shiro’s abrupt outburst. “I… bought it a year ago from the art gallery in the town center… there’s a young worker in one of the pubs who paints in his free time, and his work was being displayed and sold there. It is a lovely painting, I will admit, though I am surprised you’d be taken by it…”

“Where? Do you know where!?”

“I don’t, I’m afraid, but perhaps the gallery might know-”

That’s all he needs to hear. After a two and a half kilometer run to the next town, followed by a half-hour wait at the art gallery in question, Shiro finally finds himself on a little cobblestone road, where, mere feet from the beach, he is standing in front of a small, two-store bar.

The tables and walls are painted a sky blue, as if it can cut through even the cloudiest of days; for such a small place, it’s certainly busy, with a dozen customers lounging outside and drinking pints of beer and shots of tsípouro.

The name of the place is Lion’s Head Pub and Café.

Shiro nearly laughs at loud at the irony of it all. If ever there is a place Keith would be…

Well, there’s no delaying the inevitable. Taking a deep breath, Shiro walks inside.

Keith’s there, washing the counter inside as a group of locals laugh and drink all around him.

There’s another bartender, one with a bigger physique and dark skin, washing the inside of a glass. The second he spots Shiro, he quickly elbows Keith, disappearing before the artist can ask what the problem is.

By the time Keith turns back around towards the bar, a glass in hand for his potential customer, Shiro has slid onto the stool nearest to him.

“Hi…” Shiro smiles at him as Keith’s eyes widen along with his mouth. He’s even more gorgeous than he remembers-hair up in a bun, cheeks red as cherries, and the sound of glass shattering on the floor behind the bar as if falls from his hands. Well, maybe not that last one. “Long time no see, Red.”

Immediately, the bigger bartender is behind Keith, furiously sweeping the broken pieces of mug up. All the while Keith stares, mouth agape, his eyes clearly searching Shiro’s for a sign he’s dreaming. As the moments go by, Keith’s eyes begin to mist up, just a little.

“Shiro…” Finally, Keith shakily exhales. “How… how in the world did you find me?”

“I didn’t. Not on purpose,” he replies quietly, elbows leaning against the counter. “I decided to come here and stay at an Airbnb, and I saw your painting there…”

“You wouldn’t be talking about the second floor flat behind the Babis Studios by any chance, would you?” Keith asks. “The one overlooking the harbor?”

“That’s the one.”

“Why did you choose it? Of all the places you could go…”

“Well, to be honest, I kept getting advertisements about it in my email and on just about every webpage I visited. After a while, the idea of coming here just kind of grew on me and…”

Keith rolls his eyes at the story. “Pidge.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Shiro doesn’t ask. “You look good, Inspector. I mean, you always looked good, but... today’s no exception.”

“Thanks. You too.” Shiro coquettishly brought a hand to his chin. “So… you’re a bartender who paints in his free time now, huh? Or is it the other way around?”

“My two friends of mine opened this place while I was in prison,” Keith explains as he turns his back at Shiro and turns on the coffee machine. It whirrs as he continues. “They took me in after I was freed, so I’ve been helping them out here.”

Shiro suspects those two friends might have had something to Red’s heists, but again, he doesn’t press the issue. At this point, it wouldn’t even matter if he were to find out that half the people who live here worked for Allura and the sake of Project Voltron. As far as the law and the evidence is concerned, Ellen Sanda was the Red the Thief, and nothing he could say would change that. Not that he would, after all this time.

“Once they got me out here, I started painting… under my own name, I swear. They convinced me to try and sell a few to make some money, earn my full keep while I’m living with them. I haven’t sold that many, but some people around here have shown interest in showing my art down south, so it’s something.” He turns back around once the coffee machine is finished, revealing both a large, full cup and prepares a little plate with a chocolate muffin. “Here you go. Large espresso along with a little something extra, just like you always ordered at Sal’s. It’s on the house.”

“Wow.” Shiro’s eyes light up; Keith actually remembered his order. “Thanks.”

The coffee is good, and hot, and perfectly frothy; the muffin is sweeter than the ones Sal would serve. Shiro eats without taking his eyes off Keith; as the seconds pass, he realizes that Keith is forcing himself to look away from him every time his eyes meet Shiro’s. Each and every time he does this, his shoulders tense up, and his smile falters, until Keith is wearing little more than a thinly-disguised frown.

Maybe Shiro made a mistake coming here. But…

“I missed you, you know,” he murmurs as he takes a long, last sip of his first espresso. “Even after everything... what we had was special.”

“…It was.” Keith’s hands begin to shake as he takes away the cup. “And I missed you too. I still miss you.”

“Then why…?” Shiro’s brows furrow at the declaration. “Why didn’t you ever contact me? I know I was under CPD protection, so I couldn’t visit you, without risking your safety. But... I told Iverson to let you know you could still contact me through him, if you ever wanted to talk, even after you were let out of jail. But then… you never did. You told me everything that had been between us was real, and… I had been willing to believe for a second time, but then you were released, and just like that you were gone again. I couldn’t find you, no matter what I tried.”

Is there a hint of bitterness in his voice? Yes. Is it towards Keith? Not all of it. He knows he could have written to Keith, too, while he’d been in prison. If only he’d been brave enough to just do it. But he hadn’t been, and he knows it, and he can only let his shoulders slump with a sigh, as his second cup was gently slid towards him. He’d let Keith slip away, he’s sure of it.

“…It was real.”

Shiro looks up to see Keith finally looking at him, a sad smile on his face. “I wanted to contact you so badly, even if it was just to thank you for the sketchbook you gave me. I still have it at my house… but… I couldn’t. My time in prison gave me perspective, and it made me realize we’ve just too different. You’re open and honest, I’m not. You love Venice, I didn’t enjoy it so much except when you showed me things. I’m a thief and convict, you’re a cop who dedicated his life to justice. I love you, and… you don’t… you know, not after I ruined… things…”

He waves his hands as nothing he’s saying is important, and Shiro finds himself stunned at Keith’s words. Then, finally, he starts to laugh, startling Keith. Suddenly, things make a little more sense: just like Shiro had tried to forget his feelings for Keith, Keith tried to justify why he doesn’t deserve Shiro.

“Wow,” Shiro gasps as he tries to recover his breath. “I can’t believe how wrong someone can be in a few short sentences! I really don’t know how you got that idea.”

“Wh-?” Keith blinks. And blushes. It’s cute. “What are you talking about? It’s true-”

“Not even remotely.”

“I broke your trust, because it’s what I had to do.” Keith has every right to be angry, but now, he just sounds tired as he whispers. “You arrested me, because it’s what you had to do. There’s no way you, as someone who swore his life to uphold the law, could possibly still be interested in me, knowing I’m Red the Thief.”

“First of all, you’re not Red the Thief anymore, not since the Castle of Lions served its purpose. And… second of all, I’m not on the force anymore.” At Keith’s shocked expression, he continues, head bowing back down to look at the froth topping his espresso, “I had to resign. After everything that’s happened, and especially as the man who put away a mafia-style kingpin, there’s no way any police force in Italy will hire me. I’m too much of a target. And even if I wasn’t… I know my heart wouldn’t be in it like it used to be.”

“I…” Keith’s fists clench. “I didn’t know any of that.”

“It’s true that I love Venice and opportunities that it gave me, always will. But it also took more from me than I can ever really forgive it for, especially with all the work I put in to make it a better place. It took my arm, my comrades, my past and my future…and you.” Shiro guffaws as he sips his coffee. “You didn’t ruin my life, I think I can do a good enough job of that on my own. And come on, you know you don’t hate Venice, either. You created that piece that’s hanging up in the place I’m staying at, and it’s just as beautiful as the real thing. There’s no way you could have made it that way if you had no respect whatsoever for the city. Hell, I bet you paint Venice all the time!”

“…Ok, fine, you got me. I can’t get enough of painting Venice.” Keith smiles, and finally it was an opened one, one of the past. “It’s because it reminds me of you. Because… like I said. I love you.”

“Present tense?”

“Yes.” Keith nods.

At this, Shiro brought his prosthetic arm up to cup Keith’s chin. Almost instinctively, Keith leans into it, his eyes closed. For a moment, all is quiet, and it is like they are the only two people in the pub, if not the entire town. Neither of them speaks, and as Keith opens his eyes again, Shiro can see the stars hanging within the dark blue irises.

“Do you mean it?”

“What?”

“Loving me,” Keith practically breathes those words as his eyes mist up again. “Of all people.”

“I think I do. Very, very much, Keith Koh.” Taking a deep breath, Shiro leans in, letting his finger trace down Keith’s cheekbone. “And I can’t believe I could ever believe I didn’t. Would you want to… start over with me…? Work with a clean canvas…?”

Keith responds by closing the gap, his lips gently pressing against Shiro’s. It’s as soft and tender as Shiro has always hoped. Then, the artist leans in even further, his breath warm on Shiro’s ear.

“…It’s ‘work with an empty canvas’, dork.” And then he’s bringing his head back, a smile on his face. “So. Hi. I’m Keith Koh. I work at a pub in the middle of nowhere, and make paintings of cities that remind me of the man I love. I might have a criminal record. You?”

“Well…” Shiro’s grin is so wide his cheeks are starting to hurt. “My name’s Takashi Shirogane, but you can call me Shiro. I’m a former police officer, currently unemployed, and I’m looking for a partner who’s an expert in art history, one who might specialize in painting Venetian cityscapes-and who might know a little something about art forgeries and thefts. Someone who might have an uncanny interest in walking disasters that happen to possess prosthetic arms and… thick eyebrows.”

Smooth. Ah well. It didn’t matter. His voice lowers.

“On a completely unrelated note, I’m in love with the most beautiful former art thief in the entire world. Perhaps you’ve seen him around?”

Tears finally start to stream from Keith’s eyes, and he starts to laugh. “Is this a proposal?”

“It depends. Will you accept it?”

“Yes. Yes, thousand times yes!”

This time, it’s Shiro who surges forward to kiss Keith, his espresso and half-eaten muffin are forgotten as he finds himself lost in Keith’s embrace, his breath, his very essence.

And here Shiro had really thought that leaving Venice, and all he’d known and held dear, would be the end. He had believed that nothing would be certain or stable for a long time; he had no idea when, if ever, he would find a way forward once his trip was over.

In the last place anyone might have ever looked, Keith’s lips are pressing into his own. Shiro realizes he has found what the answer he’d been looking for since he resigned, and he’s already decided he won’t let this opportunity go. Not this time.

Indeed, it is not the end for Shiro, but rather, the beginning of a second chance for Shiro and the thief who stole his heart.

Their future will indeed be an empty canvas in front of them, and personally, he can’t wait to see what masterpiece they decide to paint on it.


End file.
